


Take Me Home, Country Roads

by knifeofnarwhal



Category: Final Fantasy XV, TERRA BATTLE (Video Game), Terra Wars (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Smut, F/M, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, References to Other Final Fantasy Games, Slow Burn, Wish Fulfillment, Worldly Sarah
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26170609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knifeofnarwhal/pseuds/knifeofnarwhal
Summary: Come to think of it; this is probably the closest he'll ever get to bringing a pretty girl home.Sarah x Noctis. AU/AR. Ten Years Later Fic.  Post-Episode Ignis, Alternate Ending, but tweaked so more people survive.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum & Sarah (Terra Battle), Noctis Lucis Caelum/Sarah (Terra Battle)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 39





	1. preamble

**Author's Note:**

> I do not consent to this work or any of my work being uploaded or displayed through third-party apps and websites. If you are viewing this work through an app that makes money from advertisements, please close the app and view my work for free on the original Ao3 page.
> 
> There will be side pairings but they aren't the main focus.

Because of how the prophecy of the True King of Light pans out, it makes sense to see it reduced to a footnote in Lucian history when a commoner puts on the Ring of the Lucii and defeats Chancellor Izunia instead. Noctis does his best to help wrangle the journalists at the resulting press conference even though it's awkward and hypocritical, announcing the end of the war and the fulfilment of the prophecy while he's not even halfway to accepting this new reality himself. It's a mercy for everyone present when someone finally changes the subject and asks if his marriage to the Oracle will still go ahead.

"It will not," Luna declares before Noctis has finished processing the question. "If you'll recall, the marriage was a ruse concocted by Niflheim and surely as we have witnessed the strength of _their_ promises we have also seen today that it was not promises that ensured today's peace, but _action_. We would do well to use the example Ignis Scientia has demonstrated as a guiding precedent. Wouldn't you agree, Lord Noctis?"

 _Whoa_. Luna's only ever addressed him in a formal context (most their interactions have only ever been mandated by duty), even so, Noctis can't shake the feeling he's just been dumped on live television. He knows anything he says will pale in comparison to a statement _like that_ , so he responds by extending a hand to Luna with a smile. His first 'official' royal act as King, as it were.

Political pundits obsess on the implications of this new development for the next three weeks. 

. . .

King Regis and his predecessors always were the hands-on type, but it quickly becomes clear to Noctis that that model only works if you have the luxury of a panel of advisors. He only has Ignis and on occasion Camelia when she wants to talk trade, so the early years of his reign are an endless deluge of policy proposals, meetings and press conferences. Inevitably when he gets fed up, he grants Ignis Royal Assent to establish a new Lucian Parliament and reduce the role of King to a figurehead. Doing so, Noctis figures, will give Lucians a more significant say in the running of their country and free up time to up his surf fishing game. (What? Shit's harder than it looks.)

Ignis isn't impressed, but there's no refuting the fact that the paperwork has gone from insurmountable mountain to manageable molehill. _He_ uses his newfound downtime to pen a cookbook based on their travels, and it tops the bestseller list. 

(Geek.)

....

Elsewhere in the world, Camelia is appointed as Niflheim's steward via a unanimous vote by the world's leaders and immediately puts its technology to work in driving the Post-War Restoration effort. The Meldacio Hunters chip in for a time, ultimately merging with the Innkeepers Association to become the Meldacio Group (MG): a tourism conglomerate that sees rapid expansion from the sudden migration boom. With millions of people no longer fearing the dark and daemon sightings becoming something of a rarity, it's good business sense to evolve. Under advisement from Ignis, Noctis appoints Sania as the leading scientific and environmental authority to minimise MG's impact on the biosphere, and Sania accepts the role on the condition that he lend her Gladiolus. No one in their friend group is surprised when the two become an item, though they act like they are. 

...

Noctis doesn't think about his legacy until Tenebrae's announcement of Luna's engagement sets the media into a speculative frenzy about whether _he's_ secretly dating one of his security staff like Luna had been. Aside from suing them Noctis does, briefly, entertain the idea of faking his death and retiring to live a quiet existence in Cape Caem. He opts to try the romantic route first so that Ignis doesn't have a heart attack, but the string of blind dates he goes on lead to nowhere, and he eventually stops trying. When you're easily the most recognisable and influential public figure in the world, it's impossible to make a first impression. 

It occurs to Noctis maybe that's why the guys don't needle him about marriage these days. That perhaps the needling had emerged out of their shared duty to secure the best outcome for the Lucian people based on the cards they held back then. Because ten years on, Noctis has heard zero remarks about his non-existent love life; only his decision to grow a beard. 

"Don't sweat it. There's plenty of fish in the sea," Prompto says while Noctis helps him into a waiting cab after catch-up drinks one night. Noctis had been ranting about the times his blind dates had turned out to be tabloid reporters.

"Nah I'm done. Think I'll adopt instead," Noctis says with a sigh. "No law against that, right?"

Prompto grins. "If there was, you could thingy it away--woosh!" 

"You know it. Alright, get going. Text you later."

The idea churns over in Noctis' mind while he prepares for bed. Adoption could work. Would it get the gossip rags off his back? Probably not, but it'd give them something new to talk about. Plus he and the kid could go fishing together, go hunting, go kite-surfing in Galdin, all that fun stuff. All the things he'd missed out on. And you could be damned sure he'd be a lot more present in the kid's life than Regis ever had been in his. 

_Who knows, maybe that kid'll grow up to be a decent adult with better interpersonal skills._ _A better king or queen, even._

Free from the shackles and expectations of destiny, his kid would get to marry whomever they wanted.

And then _he_ would get to do the needling for once. 

...

Five miles away, just off the Vannath Coast, a meteor reaches the end of its journey and crash-lands into the water. Because it lands outside the range of the Galdin resort's floodlights, the patrons never notice the otherworldly visitor emerging from the surf to drag herself up the sand dunes and collapse in a soaked heap atop of Lachyrte Haven. 

To be fair to the patrons, it _is_ ladies' night, and the sous chef has washboard abs. 


	2. I

Sarah's no stranger to making a splash in the worlds she visits, but World #4757 has to be the first where that expression is literal. Good news is the water's just deep enough to cushion her fall. The bad news is the latest incarnation of the Eroder is now on the loose. 

"Mental note, " Sarah says, wincing as her hand comes away bloody from the pain in her side, "no more fighting in the Bifrost." 

She passes out immediately afterwards, sprawled out under a blanket of stars. 

The first order of business when arriving in a new world is reconnaissance, and the fact that the terrestrial race is also human and is technologically similar to the last world she visited makes the work easier. The people dotted along the pier are cooperative enough to answer Sarah’s questions, but her congenial approach isn't enough to distract from her dishevelled and dirty appearance. Most are content to let the observation go unsaid, but it's only when she reaches the open road that a pickup truck actually pulls up beside her. 

In the cab, a man and woman, both middle-aged, stare at her in equal measures of concern. The woman switches off the radio while the man switches off the engine and pokes his head out the driver side window.

She's looked worse, believe it or not.

"Good afternoon!" Sarah greets before the silence can get awkward. 

Among the truck's cargo of insulated coolers, a boxer rises to sit on its haunches and tilts its head at her curiously. 

"And good afternoon to you too, " Sarah adds cordially. The boxer barks in answer, tail thudding against the metal of the cargo bed. _Cute!_ Sarah can't help but giggle.

"Miss?" The man says, frowning at her through rectangular-framed glasses. "Are you alright?" 

"We have a first-aid kit, " the woman adds. "I can have a look at _that_ for you--" 

"No, it's okay. I have plasters," Sarah says, producing them from her dress pockets as evidence. She'd swiped them from an abandoned caravan she'd found along the beach but these two don't need to know that. 

"And what are you going to do when they run out?" the woman asks.

Sarah gestures to the dark red stain on her dress. "A flesh wound. _Completely_ superficial, I promise." 

"I'm a combat medic, and I can tell you now that _that_ 'completely superficial flesh wound' needs stitches if you don't want to bleed out,'" the woman says critically. 

"...umm," is all Sarah can manage in response. If she's honest, her side _does_ kind of sting a little bit. Okay, _a lot_. But it's safer this way. The fewer people involved with her, the fewer chances the Eroder has to use them as a shield. 

"Where are you headed? Let us help you get to where you're going, at least. The nearest town is a mile away, and you won't reach it by nightfall if that's your goal."

"R-really, it's fine. I-I don't want to impose," Sarah says, feeling a lump forming in her throat. 

" _Please._ Let us help." The woman says, in the stern way that girls and women are wont to do when looking out for their younger counterparts. "I don't know what you're used to, but we look after each other in these parts. You can't expect us to leave you in good conscience looking like _that_."

"Plus, Chip could use the company." The man adds. The boxer barks, almost as if in agreement.

"I guess I can't say no to a handsome face like that, " Sarah admits with a shaky laugh. 

Whatever the world, whatever the language, it's inexplicably magical the way kindness manages to remain universal.

Ten years of interdimensional travel alone across time and space and the inherent goodness in people never fails to throw her off her game. 

By some fortunate coincidence, Sarah's rescuers are also bound for the Lucian capital. She finds 'Insomnia' an odd name choice for a city, given it's commonly used to denote a type of sleeping disorder in at least a hundred other worlds, but she keeps that to herself. She also takes care not to fixate too much on the fact that the reigning monarch shares the same name as an old friend. Considering the vastness of the universe and the things she's seen so far it‘s statistically possible, but in this business, it's healthy to manage expectations. 

They make a mandatory stop at Longwythe so that Monica (the combat medic) can have a look at her in one of the hotel rooms. Dustin (the man) takes Chip for a walk around the township to give them privacy and to get Sarah's clothes dry-cleaned. Sarah had declined their offers of replacement clothes, not so much out of vanity, but because the dress is tailor-made for dimensional travel. She tells Monica and Dustin the dress has sentimental value, and it does in the sense that it's not the kind of outfit you can just leave lying around willy-nilly. They look at her weird but go along with it.

It's fine; not like she's going to be here for very long, anyway. 

The stitches are the easy part; she can't remember the last time she'd let someone else handle that for her, _Gaia circa 1997 perhaps?_ True to combat medic form, Monica doesn't react to the scars when Sarah strips down to her underwear, but it doesn't leave her immune to questioning either. Monica's just nice enough to wait until Sarah's in a bathrobe--probably to give her some semblance of dignity. As long as she steers clear of mentioning inter-dimensional travel, Sarah knows she's golden. Historically that's what's always sent the scientists knocking. 

"So," Monica says, "tourist visa?"

"Mm-hmm," Sarah shrugs, around a mouthful of chicken on rye. 

(Monica had generously ordered room service. The polite thing would have been to decline, but Sarah doesn't have a single gil (that's the local currency, right?) to her name and far be it from her to say no to free food.)

"Galdin's usually where all the newcomers land first. Are you here for the Caelum Cup?"

"What gave me away?" Sarah's fifty per cent sure that question's from noticing the scars, but it's a less suspicious answer than 'What's the Caelum Cup?'. Is it a fighting tournament? She hopes it's a fighting tournament.

"I'm more used to treating animal attacks than stab wounds. Though I'm not sure you should be entering - you could open up those stitches."

"Hey, I give back as good as I get."

"I'm sure you do. You know, if you entered from New-Keycatrich, you could have caught the free air shuttle straight to Insomnia. The view's nice too - goes right over the Crestholm Reservoir."

"I get airsick," Sarah shrugs. "And I don't mind the hike."

"Cutting it close, don't you think? The tournament's tomorrow."

"I guess it's a good thing I ran into you guys." Sarah winks, before biting into another sandwich. 

It's a three-hour ride to Insomnia with no stops in between to make up for the lost time. Chip falls asleep halfway through the journey, snoring soundly in her lap without a care in the world. Dustin is quick to apologise, but Sarah waves him off. Chip's the cutest and most affectionate dog she's ever come across. Any sane person would consider it an honour.

She takes a selfie with the sleeping mutt for posterity.


	3. II

As far as Sarah's concerned, there are only two rules to follow when tracking and hunting a hostile alien entity and they’re relatively straightforward. If you're late upon arrival, follow the reality distortions; they tend to show up after a few hours. If you're _early_ , track down the most powerful person in the world and go from there. 

The two guards posted at the palace gates take one look at Sarah before she’s even said anything and point curtly to a plaque on the gate wall by way of a greeting. 

"Public Holiday. No visitors."

“Come back Tuesday."

Beyond them, the driveway leading up to the palace steps ripples, as if underwater. One of the guards follows her gaze but finds nothing out of the ordinary. As is usually the case for people who don’t have an affinity for magic.

It's not strictly a bad thing; it means they're safe from the Eroder’s scrutiny, but only for the moment. Such insurance hinges solely on _Her_ being sated. Once there’s no more magic to feed on, _She_ gets a little less picky.

"Tuesday will be too late," Sarah says. She tries to take a step forward, but the guards tense, one going for the rifle holstered over his shoulder. She backs off. " _Please_. This is an urgent matter regarding-"

"No visitors on Public Holidays-”

“Urgent or _otherwise_ , Miss-”

“You may come back with the other fangirls on Tuesday—”

“—and _no_ earlier." 

Whatever, that’s the last time she’s trying the front door.

She hates running, _God it's the worst,_ but someone has to do it. The Lucis Palace isn’t the first palace she’s finagled her way into--in the name of interdimensional safety, of course--but it has to be the most labyrinthian so far. If not for the distortions to guide her way, she knows opening the wrong door or traversing down the wrong corridor would have proved disastrous for Eos as a whole. The creature's tenacious, she'll give it that much, but minus points for subtlety. She spots the Eroder's target just as the Eroder spots her and _hauls ass._

“ _AAAHH_ -”

"Sorry!"

There’s no ‘delicate’ way to tackle someone bodily to safety. Contrary to his lean appearance and distinct lack of bulk, His Majesty's body is a lot more solid than she expects, but Sarah has momentum and the element of surprise on her side. Papers go flying from the impact of them colliding, and not half a second later the Eroder flails past, skidding noisily against the tile of the conference room in a glowing red mass to crash through the opposite wall. 

_Personal best!_ Sarah pumps a fist while the king groans in a slump on the floor. She pushes to her feet and lunges through the hole after the creature, short sword drawn. 

“Don’t worry Your Majesty,“ she calls, “ I got this!”

What follows the battle is easily the least desirable aspect of the job description of any interdimensional traveller: the resulting chase through the palace grounds by the guards. As far as everyone else is concerned, she's the maniac who tried to assassinate their king. Of the people chasing her, scariest by far is the man hurling daggers at her with almost preternatural precision, forcing her to zig-zag for dear life just to avoid turning into a human pin cushion. There's no time to cast the spell and zip out of there, doing so requires the luxury of concentration, and _Dear God, these people are intense_. 

She makes it halfway up the south wall when a sniper finally nails her in the meat of her calf with a tranquilliser dart. 

An hour after the drugs have mostly worn off, Sarah wakes. Not in an interrogation cell as expected, but a bedroom of an undamaged wing of the palace, on a luxurious king-size four-poster. She detects movement behind a desk a few meters away while sitting up, and swiftly drags herself out of bed, sword brandished. Given her left leg is half-numb, she stumbles and totters on the leg that _isn't_ , so points deducted from intimidation. 

" _Easy_ ," the King says. He sets down whatever paperwork he was working on and walks around the desk, moving to stand a safe distance from her. 

Sarah keeps her sword raised the entire time and continues to eye him suspiciously. 

He smiles back.

"What is this," Sarah says, slightly distracted from shaking her bum leg like that'll get it working again. "Good cop, bad cop?" 

" _King_?" He offers, before chuckling at his own joke. When Sarah doesn't relax, his expression turns incredulous. " _Seriously_?"

"Seriously..." Sarah repeats expectantly.

"Six," he mutters to himself. "So much for _teamwork_." 

Teamwork? _Wait_... Sarah squints until something in her brain clicks, reconciling memory against what can currently be observed. The face is less round, more angular and weathered, but the smile's the same. 

Well, perhaps a tad more self-assured than she remembers. 

" _Noct_?"

"Bingo."

There's a pained grunt on Noctis' part as she half tackles, half yanks him into a tight hug, her sword vanishing before it can clatter against the tile. 

"Noct! My God, it _is_ you!"

"Of course it is you jerk," Noctis says. “Who else would it be?” 

Her head barely brushes against his chin as he returns the embrace.

She doesn't remember him being quite so tall.


	4. III

"You cut your hair, " Noctis observes, grinning. He watches her tug a strand of silver taut against her collar bone to demonstrate its full length before releasing it. _So weird._ He remembers it being a shade darker. 

"Not all of it, just enough to be more manageable, " Sarah says. "It became a hazard at one point, so..."

"It suits you, " Noctis tells her.

"Thank you," Sarah beams. "And you...grew a beard, huh?"

"Yes, I did." _Finally_ , someone with a respect for aesthetics. Take that, Ignis.

"It's very nice." Sarah offers. 

"Thank you." However, there's something about that smile that he doesn't quite buy. Like she's purposely overselling it.

"I mean, as long as _you're_ happy with it, right?"

Noctis narrows his eyes.

Suspiciously as if on cue, Ignis pushes into the conference room, wheeling in the trolley of refreshments, smiling in only the way that Ignis at his most smug knows how.

"Before we start, " Ignis says over his laptop, "I'd like to formally apologise for earlier. If I'd known then what I'd known now..."

"Water under the bridge, " Sarah assures him, smiling. "Now, how much do I owe the good people of Lucis?"

"One million gil, " Ignis says without missing a beat. 

_There it is_ , Noctis thinks. Stone cold bastard. No hesitation at all.

_Bad cop._

Sarah takes a long drink of her coffee to process that. Her hands shake as she sets down her cup. 

_Denial_ , Noctis reckons. The first stage of grief. He nods for Ignis to continue. 

"I know this is a lot to take in, " Ignis says.

She turns to Noctis instead, frowning. "I saved you. And your kingdom by extension. Don't I, you know, get an _offset_ for services rendered?"

Noctis sucks his teeth. "The uh...one million is the amount remaining after the offset."

"But you're the _King_ ," Sarah insists, gesturing to him exasperatedly. "Can't you...I don't know, _nepotism_ me out and call it a day?"

Noctis frowns. "What kind of kings have _you_ met?"

"I don't know; the kind who show gratitude for me saving their world, maybe?"

"Hey, we're plenty grateful-"

"Sure have a strange way of _showing_ it."

"Let us get back on topic," Ignis cuts in, regarding Sarah severely over his laptop. "The fact is, the third floor of a recently restored heritage site was destroyed on the _anniversary_ of the day our country was _invaded_. Our people are understandably in a state of panic and confusion. So no, we cannot simply 'call it a day'."

Sarah buries her face in her hands. Her voice comes out muffled when she speaks again. "This is some kind of sick Lucian joke, right?"

"Uh..." Noctis says, looking at Ignis who simply slides a box of tissues across the conference table.

"Sarah? Would you like a recess?"

"No, I'm fine, " Sarah says stubbornly, chin raised and glaring at them both, cheeks damp with rage-induced tears. "I just need a minute to process the financial _abyss_ you jerks have put me in."

_Fishing_ , Noctis thinks, _I could be fishing right now._

"The official story we're going with is that we hired a consultant to test our security systems, " Ignis says, pressing on. "And that the consultant had been overly zealous."

"Alright. Okay." Sarah exhales, looking at Noctis. " _That's_ plausible, right?"

Six, to think he could have been chilling at the bar in Galdin by now. 

"In the way that it solves the problem of people thinking the explosion was an attack on Lucian soil," Noctis says. He gives her time to dab at her eyes with a tissue, regain some of her composure before he continues. "Unfortunately...they're now furious about negligence. Cabinet needs to show that someone's being punished."

"But I don't have that kind of money, " Sarah protests. "I don't even have _luggage_!"

Noctis winces at the shrill tone. Ignis doesn't react.

"Uhh, we thought you might say that," Noctis says, "that's why I got Ignis to convince Cabinet into commuting the fine into Community Service hours."

Sarah perks up, glancing at the man hopefully. "Really?"

"Really," Ignis confirms. "What do you think?"

"I guess it's...doable, " Sarah says slowly. She wrings her fingers nervously. "Um. So how long would that take, do you know?"

Ignis starts running the numbers on his laptop. "Well, accounting for inflation and the minimum wage rate, roughly thirteen years-- _and_ she's fainted, " he says, while Noctis catches her.

Ignis closes his laptop and starts packing up.

"Where do you think _you're_ going?" Noctis says, watching him button up his blazer. "I thought we were dealing with this."

"We still are. I have a scheduled teleconference with the Prime Minister, the Minister for Culture and Heritage and the Minister of Defense to update them on the outcome. I'm assuming she's on board with our proposal. Why? Were you volunteering to trade places?"

Noctis stares at him. 

"Didn't think so, " Ignis says, making his way for the door.

"Where should I put her?"

"Noctis, she's a human woman, not some rare collectible you won from an internet auction. You have _eighty-three rooms_ in your palace and an entire staff at your beck and call. I'm certain that _that_ equation will not prove too difficult to solve."

"You know, ever since you got that promotion..." Noctis starts.

"You're the one who promoted me," Ignis shrugs. He closes the conference room door behind him before Noctis can answer.

Noctis heaves a sigh and regards the unconscious woman in his arms. Six. Talk about a rough welcoming party. 

"Welcome to Eos, I guess."

Prompto, who was totally eavesdropping by virtue of how quickly he straightens outside the conference room doors, shadows Noctis through the hallways, craning his neck trying to get a good look at the newcomer as they make their way to the East Wing.

"Who's the chick?"

"Sarah," Noctis grunts, turning a corner, and then another. "An old friend."

Prompto squints. She doesn’t look like any of the girls he remembers. Six knows he'd never forget a girl with a face like _that_. "From high school?"

"From _another universe_. Dude, _come on_ , I told you guys about her. That time we lost track of each other in Malmalam?”

“You mean that time _we_ lost track of _you_?”

“Yeah. _That_ time.” Noctis rolls his eyes, climbing the stairs. 

Prompto's laugh echoes down the hallway, the stern gazes of Caelum predecessors bearing down on them from the walls. “Honestly? We all just chalked it up to you inhaling Soldier Wasp venom too.”

"Great to know I can always count on you guys to be attentive,” Noctis says. “Could you get the door please?”

“Alright, how's this for attentive, " says Prompto as he holds it open wide enough for Noctis to pass through, "congrats on your new roommate!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _kiss kiss fall in debt_


	5. IV

It's dark out when Sarah comes to, and primarily on account of the dull pain from her stitches. After a quick check to verify they are indeed miraculously intact, she takes stock of her surroundings. The room is smaller than the first but not by much; literally, the only difference is the bed isn't a four-poster, and that's saying something seeing as there's more than ample space to do a couple of cartwheels to the door. Aside from the bed and its accompanying bedside table (walnut, she guesses), the usual amenities befitting a guest room are present: an ensuite bathroom, desk and chair combo by the window, a floor lamp with its lampshade overhanging an armchair in one corner and a closet. The closet is empty save for a pair of black silk pyjamas, which she helps herself to. She can't shower for the next couple of hours on top of being stuck here so might as well slip into something comfortable.

Noctis knocks while she's turning out the contents of her dress pockets, quiet and hesitant. She contemplates ignoring him for the foreseeable future while serving her sentence; however, too many years of playing a pseudo older sibling/mother role to children have hardwired her into taking the high road each time. Plus, she _did_ kind of wreck a heritage structure. It's not lost on her that jail time could have feasibly been Cabinet's first option.

She sees his shadow through the gap on the other side of the door shifting back and forth like he's debating leaving her alone. She picks up the pace. 

He's made a start down the hallway when she opens the door, but he pivots quickly to face her, a box of pizza in hand, a sheepish expression on his face. Somehow, she senses the invisible hand of Ignis at work. And older sibling programming or not, the urge to make a quip about it is too good to resist. He's not _her_ King, so it's tough trying to feel any degree of deference or even reverence for that matter toward him.

"Well, well, the King of Lucis himself, bringing dinner for little old me," she says. 

"Just...rolling out the welcome wagon," Noctis says, tone awkward. She can't imagine _why_ ; he wasn't the one who got slapped with the million gil fine. 

Sarah puts one hand on her hip. "If we're going with that analogy are we assuming yours is the kind to run folks over before reversing back to help?"

Noctis blanches. 

Sarah smiles back and in the silence, reaches over to flick him in the forehead. It works like a charm in breaking the tension. 

"W-wha-hey!"

"Only teasing." She takes the pizza from him, prepared to close the door until she notices him lingering. Someone came with an agenda. "Did you...wanna come inside? I've got some out of this world stuff you can check out while I eat."

"Really?" He says, following in after her. The boyish excitement in his voice is too endearing not to smile about.

" _Literally_." Sarah nods at the desk on her way to the armchair. "Go nuts."

It's not incorrect to say Sarah wasn't kidding when she said she didn't have luggage, but there's a decent number of items laid out on the desk that has Noctis wondering if they have different interpretations of the word. Some of these items have some heft to them: her sword and arm guard for one, and apparently, she'd been keeping them tucked away in her _dress_. Naturally, the first question he has is: 

"Sarah, how big are your pockets?" Because Six, a whole sword? He knows he's not one to talk because he did have the Armiger at one point, but that was Providence. Unless that's how the deities from Sarah's world roll. 

Sarah takes a moment to contemplate in between mouthfuls of mushroom and salami before she swallows. "Big enough?"

"You don't know?"

"Space has never been an issue, so I've never cared. It's all magic to me either way. And I don't have _that_ much stuff." She adds, in the same tone someone accused of hoarding would use.

"I'll be the judge of that," Noctis says. 

The first item is a metal sphere, large enough to fit in the palm of his hand, intricate intersecting lines and tiny circles etched into the surface to form a random tessellating pattern. When he looks back at Sarah, she gestures with her pizza slice for him to go on.

"It's more satisfying if you find out on your own."

"So it's a puzzle."

"In a manner of speaking."

He turns it over and realizes one of the shapes has some give to it along the surface of the sphere, so he presses it. Doing so results in a click and a whole quadrant loosening. Not quite loose enough to press down on, though. 

"Twist it," Sarah suggests.

"Which way?"

"Lefty loosey." 

It takes him about fifteen minutes working in this fashion, twisting and pushing before the internal mechanism whirrs to life. In that time, Sarah finishes the entire pizza and washes up. He almost drops the sphere when a glowing green light shoots out of it, projecting a holographic array of galaxies --and their associated planets, moons and nebulae when he inadvertently touches one of them--onto the bedroom walls. 

"Holy shit."

Sarah laughs from the bed. She's lying on her side, head propped up by one arm while the other hugs a pillow. "Noct, allow me to introduce the Literal Map of the Universe. Literal Map of the Universe, Noct," she says. 

"I have a kingdom, and you have entire worlds at your fingertips," Noctis breathes as the hologram shifts and rotates of its own accord about the room. "Amazing."

Sarah yawns. "One of the perks." 

"Have you been to them all?"

"I wish," Sarah says, tone wistful, "but that would be impossible in a single lifetime no matter how fast I go."

"How do I turn it off?"

"It should be loose somewhere. Righty-tighty." 

The hologram retreats into the sphere almost instantaneously, the room bathing in the soft yellow glow of the lamp once more. Noctis carefully sets it back onto the desk and moves to the next item of interest: a brick phone that looks like it's from his old man's prime.

"This is your phone?" Six, it's humongous. He can't help but laugh. 

"In a certain world, yes. It's a PHS. I use it to keep in touch."

Noctis sets it down, making a mental note to give one of his old phones to her. "How'd you find Eos?" 

"Eroder. Always shows up red on the map."

He moves further down the desk, intent on ignoring the everyday items: a journal, bandages, a toiletry bag, a makeup bag, an empty first aid kit, spare socks, spare underwear and bras (he skims past _those_ super-fast while Sarah giggles), assorted stationery, a stack of spellcasting tomes. He pauses to pick up a commemorative coin of some sort; a woman's side profile stamped on the upward-facing side.

"Ashelia the First, Queen of..." 

" _Dalmasca_. Her father Raminas is on the back. Oh, Ivalice is beautiful. I'll take you there one day. Ooh, we can make a day of it!"

Noctis wonders just how this woman's planning on squeezing that kind of time in between virtually the equivalent of a 40-hour workweek when her community service starts, but it would be cruel to shoot that enthusiasm down. He nods instead. "I'll hold you to it."

The next item is a roll of amusement park tokens about an inch thick in diameter, the writing faded but not enough to be illegible.

"Golden Saucer," Noctis reads. 

"Added to our itinerary," Sarah grins, before her eyes light up. "Are you any good with air rifles?"

"Why?" Also, this is an _obscene_ number of amusement tokens to be considered a souvenir. 

"There's this Moogle plushie I've had my eye on," Sarah explains. "So. Are you good or what?"

"I'm decent. I know a guy who's more than good." 

"Fantastic, he's hired."

"Just like that?"

"What, it's a really nice plushie, and I want it," Sarah says before her eyes narrow, "why, he's not a pervert is he?"

"No, nothing like that," Noctis promises. "Just the fact that you know nothing about this guy and you're ready to jump in with both feet." 

"Well, if I recall correctly, I trusted you back then, and that turned out okay. The difference now is this guy's your friend, so I'm leaving the vetting to you. Also, I want to meet all your friends while I'm here. Is Ignis your friend? I like him." 

"Wow, no pressure." _Of course_ she likes Ignis; most people who come in contact with him do. Noctis knows not to take that personally.

The final items are a set of keys, Sarah's flower-shaped hairclip—the clasp broken—and a tiny velvet box; the kind reserved for engagement rings. 

He holds it up, eyebrow raised. "Special someone?"

She giggles. "Isn't that the point of those?" 

_That was...somehow unnecessarily cryptic._ Even so, Noctis notices she isn't wearing a ring on the requisite finger. He sets the box back down. As Ignis likes to say, "There's a time and place for everything."

"You're not going to open it?"

"Nah. I'll save that story for a future road trip to Galdin." At 'Galdin' Sarah groans. "What? You've been?" 

" _Yes_ I've _been--_ well, _kind_ of--but don't think I don't see through you," she adds, pointing warningly, "if you think _I'm_ going to stand around watching _you_ stand around waiting for a fish to bite I'm going to shove you in the water."

"No dice," Noctis says, "participation's mandatory if you want that plushie." 

As if to prove his dedication to the cause, he plants himself in the armchair, arms crossed. 

Sarah scowls back but then relents after a yawn that, upon a cursory check of his watch has Noctis realizing how late it is. 

Ignis would call this 'being a bad host'. One of the palace staff's going to snitch to him, he's certain. 

"I catch one fish, and no more," Sarah declares. "And I really will shove you in the water."

He'd like to see her try. "I'll add it to our itinerary," Noctis says, standing. He reaches to switch off the lamp for her—

"Noct…"

"Hmm?"

Sarah rolls until she's on her stomach, propping her chin in her hands. There's a motherly maturity to her gaze overriding her earlier light-hearted demeanour. "I was getting the impression you had a more important question to ask. Before you went through my underwear and stuff." 

At 'underwear' Noctis feels his ears heat up. Thank goodness for long hair. 

"It's nothing life-threatening," Noctis promises. Mostly it's magic-related. Why the Eroder would come after him when humans haven't been capable of using magic since the crystal shattered ten years ago and the Six lost interest in Eos as a whole. 

"Noct?"

Noctis shakes his head. 

"It can wait. We've got a long day tomorrow – well, _you_ do anyway," he laughs. "Get some rest."

"Alright, but you'll tell me, won't you?"

"I will. Don't worry; it's nothing big." 

Well, he doesn't think so, anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes the treasure map was lifted directly from treasure planet


	6. V

By mere technicality, Ignis is the first of Noctis' close friends Sarah meets. Still, the circumstances in how that occurs render that introduction invalid on account of the fact that he holds the position of Private Secretary to the Sovereign. As Noctis' literal advisor, it’s inconceivable for him to not to be in the room when her penance is prescribed to her. 

Therefore, it stands to reason that Prompto would be the first of Noctis' close friends she meets in an organic capacity, and the man is, by all rights, _fun_. He's the only one in the Crownsguard barracks when the yeoman drops her off, scatting a tune in the anteroom that is way too optimistic for 7 AM. He may even be the only one who knows how to work the coffee rig without losing rhythm. 

Mindful of the fact it could be a hazard to inadvertently scare and expose the man to possible injury while he's in the middle of steaming milk, she stays in the doorway and waits for him to finish before knocking politely against the door frame. 

"Marshall! Wasn't expecting you till later, sir."

"Actually, no one else is in yet," Sarah replies. At her voice Prompto whirls, eyes widening to saucer size. Sarah's hand comes up to stifle a giggle. "Good morning. That was quite a lively performance."

"Thank you." He bows, apparently the type to take it in stride. "It's a Prompto Original. Got a different one for every day of the week. Ahh, where are my manners, I'm Prompto," he says, offering a hand, "'Sarah', right?"

"Yes," Sarah answers slowly, reeling as she returns the handshake. If she counts the hours, it's barely been a day since she touched down in Insomnia. "How did—"

"No one in Lucis so much as sneezes without the Marshall knowing about it. Oh, and all the stories about him? One hundred per cent true. The jury's still out on how long that ‘Immortal’ moniker’s going to stick, though.”

There are too many things to unpack from that answer, that for a moment Sarah’s at a loss where to start. “Erm…stories?” she repeats, timidly. 

“Whoops, word vomit. Don't worry; I’ll give you the skinny on the Marshall before the man even steps through the door. Go on, take a seat.”

Sarah picks the table closest to where he’s stationed and pulls out a chair. “He’s not a tyrant is he?” 

“He’s _fair_. I guess to some it can _seem_ tyrannical,” Prompto seems to laugh especially hard at that, which does nothing to alleviate Sarah’s nerves. Clearly, there’s a horrifying anecdote tied to some poor soul getting straightened out by the Marshall. “Oh boy, I think someone’s gonna need a steaming cup o’ joe for this,” he says, registering the horror on her face. 

Later, when the caffeine has her more awake and rational and back to her usual intrepid self, the anteroom abuzz with Prompto’s animated retellings, she feels silly for even feeling nervous in the first place. 

She just might like this guy. 

The same unfortunately cannot be said for Cor–or ‘the Marshal’ as he is apparently more colloquially known. 

( _Initially_ , anyway. First impressions are seldom often an accurate read of a person’s character once you get to know them better.)

If Prompto is a ray of sunshine, then by the same token Cor is overcast. The tricky kind of unreadable in between where one can’t tell if the skies are going to spill over with rain or give way to the sun. 

When Cor steps into the anteroom the introductions are brief as he takes his coffee: instant and black and scalding hot— _oh God he’s that kind of person_ —before he mentions for her to come with him. Prompto squeezes her shoulder and murmurs ‘good luck!’ but it falls on wooden ears. It’s difficult not to feel like a kid being marched through the corridors to the principal’s office, and it’s not even because the stark height difference makes him physically imposing, though that definitely could factor into it. 

It’s the fact that, during breakfast, Noctis seemed to hint that he holds this man in high enough regard that it's generated an absolute pressure to step up to the plate. Cor was close friends with his late father, _brothers_ in every sense of the word. If she's read the room right, essentially she’s meeting an older relative...who happens to be the most powerful swordsman in the world. 

Not intimidating at all. 

In Cor’s office they spend at least a minute in silence, Cor somehow capable of staring her down while sculling—yes, _sculling_ : a clear indicator that the Marshal has possibly tangled with a death god and lived to tell the tale—the contents of his mug. Sarah decides if he’s waiting for her to blink first, she’s not going to give him the satisfaction. 

Just as her eyes start to water, Cor sets down his mug. “His Majesty tells me you’re handy with a sword,” he says.

Sarah blinks. He'd said it conversationally enough, but answering that’s a zero-sum game if she ever saw one. If she downplays the remark she’s at risk of looking like a liar; if she agrees, she looks like a braggart. 

"I think you might be a better judge of that than him in that area," Sarah says. 

Cor says nothing only smiles, lips splitting at the seams to expose the sharp canines of his teeth. 

This is going to hurt. 

She’ll give Cor this much; the man is spry for his age. 

Prompto finds her in the medical wing, groaning and sore while a medic re-stitches her up. Them opening up during battle is the reason Cor cuts it short, though Sarah's dubious she would’ve stood a chance at her full strength. The man fights like he has everything to lose. Maniac.

Cor chides her for not disclosing her injury earlier, but she figures putting up a brave face has worked out in her favour. He may not sound impressed, but she doesn’t detect disappointment either. He bans her from the barracks until she recovers though, and that’ll push out the time in serving her sentence. She tries not to dwell on it, a win’s a win. 

“So! That went well,” Prompto says, pushing away from the wall to sit at her bedside once the medic’s gone. Sarah can’t disagree; it sure beats thinking about the alternative. Cor looked like he'd only just finished warming up. 

“Do you think he likes me?” Sarah asks. 

“It’s too early to tell. The Marshal isn’t known for making snap judgements. Anyway,” Prompto says, holding up a set of car keys, “ready to head home?”

“You’re so hardcore,” Noctis hears Prompto say when they eventually come into view on the fourth-floor landing, Sarah’s arm over his shoulder. “Most of us just say ‘yes’ or ‘no’. He’s a pretty uncomplicated guy.”

“You could have warned me,” Sarah says, poking him in the side. 

“Are you kidding? And miss out on the opportunity to see the Marshal in action? Not a chance. If it’s any consolation, you lasted a lot longer than any of us expected. Nice work!”

“Comforting to know these bruises weren’t for nothing,” Sarah sighs before the two of them notice him standing there. “Oh, hey. How did your meeting go?”

“Better than yours apparently,” Noctis replies, falling into step beside her. Six above, it was supposed to be a simple meet and greet with the Marshal; an interview at the very most, because Cor is nothing if not efficient with his time. Which begs the question: “What the hell happened?”

Sarah just glares. There’s no real malice, but she does look significantly put out. Noctis tries not to laugh. _Admittedly_ , he could have done more to warn her.

“What,” Noctis says, glancing over her shoulder at Prompto when he doesn't get an answer.

“She called Cor ‘ _old_ ’,” Prompto answers, chuckling. 

"Oof."

“I did _not_ call him 'old',” Sarah snaps, face flushing a deep red, “what I _said_ was he was _fast_ for someone his age—”

“Oh yep, that’ll do it,” Noctis sighs. 

They leave Sarah to her recuperating and hook Prompto’s camera to Noctis’ laptop so that Noctis can watch the footage. The battle gets off to a banal enough start, both feinting and parrying, evidently jockeying around for position until the three-minute mark, when a glowing yellow aura begins manifesting around Sarah. A murmur ripples through the Crownsguard gathered to watch. They've been briefed, but Noctis knows what it feels like to see magic again after so long. He'd been in the same boat just yesterday. 

“Isn't that cheating?" Noctis wonders, as an afterthought. 

“ _Please_ ," Prompto rolls his eyes, "this is _Cor_ we're talking about. The man even _looking_ at the training grounds is cheating."

The blows start to come a lot heavier on the Marshal's part, borderline lethal. Noctis can feel a phantom shake in his fingers watching Sarah fight to parry and counter. No one ever forgets their first time with the Marshal. 

“She’s doing well,” Noctis says.

“Wait for it…”

Noctis busts out laughing. Prompto snorts. Six. _She really did call Cor 'old'._

“You can pinpoint the exact moment when her life flashes before her eyes,” Prompto adds with a snicker. 

More blows. Noctis is sure it's the first time he's heard Sarah swear. 

They both wince, each pulling back from the screen as a decisive upward sweep from Cor sends Sarah flying out of the shot, effectively ending the battle. 

”She’s going to do great things. I can feel it,” Prompto declares as they stare at the blank laptop screen. 

_Ever the optimist._ Noctis chuckles. “If nothing else I think Cor's found his new favourite sandbag.”

"Yeah. Better her than us."


	7. VI

The terms of Sarah's community service arrive neatly packaged in a red A4-sized envelope stamped 'CONFIDENTIAL' in angry red lettering; the unwanted side dish to dinner that night. She blames Cor's reputation alone for why the staff are under the exaggerated impression that she had been rendered into a vegetative state following their match. She's bruised, not broken, for goodness sake. 

The first thought that crosses Sarah's mind as the yeoman wheels it in— _Talcott, his name is Talcott_ , she reminds herself belatedly—is that the conditions are going to tip more on the scales of Not-Good than Good. If that's going to be the case, then it might as well be delivered to her in an accent she finds attractive. Since sky pirates don't have fixed abode (the ones whose social circles she orbits, anyway), she has their engineer forge a ring for her out of a discarded ball bearing from their ship's engine to use as a totem. Much more convenient than trying to cast a locator spell, or going through the nightmarish ordeal of trying to put on her travelling dress while injured. 

She's in the middle of forging the connection to Ivalice, has her tome open to the requisite page in one hand, has the other tracing glyphs in the air when there's a swift and sudden knock at the door. The lapse in concentration is all it takes for the magic to sputter and stall, eventually fizzing out. 

"Sarah! You awake?" Noctis calls, the knocks growing progressively urgent by the second. 

Sarah sets down the tome and goes to answer. On the threshold Noctis is bent over, one hand massaging his knee while he catches his breath--almost as if he'd sprinted here. "Hey. You okay?"

"Y-yeah," he pants, holding up a finger "one sec. Did you eat?"

"I did, thanks," Sarah says. Stir-fried vegetables and beef on a bed of rice; God knows she would have enjoyed it better if not for the pesky envelope. "Talcott knows his spices."

"He'll be glad to hear that," Noctis says, finally straightening. His eyes flicker to the inside of her room. Settle on the open tome on her desk and a possible suspicion he's carried on the way here. Whatever hesitation he has, he powers through it. "So listen, you're not in any trouble, but were you spell-casting earlier?"

Who else in the kingdom would be? "No," Sarah says, just for the hell of it. Noctis looks at her cynically. " _Yes_. Why?"

"The whole floor was shaking, and you scared some of the staff. One of them has PTSD from—and you kind of triggered...we had to send him home." He states, quietly. 

"Oh..." Sarah says, suddenly feeling small. "I-I'm so sorry. I didn't—how can I fix it?"

"No, stop. It's my fault too for assuming you _wouldn't_ use magic. That's on me; I should have talked to you about it."

Noctis shakes his head, one hand raking through his hair. He seems so tortured by the whole thing, Sarah can't help but reach out. Gently tugs his shirt sleeve. 

"Hey, look, we're talking about it _now_ , right? Tell me." 

"I know the Eroder business is...” Noctis exhales “ _what it is—"_

" _Necessary_ ," Sarah corrects with a frown, withdrawing her hand. "I shouldn’t have to explain that to you of all people. And you say 'business' like I charge people for saving them. Which I _don't_ , just so we're clear." 

Noctis blinks, reeling as if she's just dunked ice water on him. "No-no, I'm sorry that came out wrong. I don't mean to downplay it. I promise I'm not going to stop you from doing that while you're here.”

“Yes, _well_. You and I would have more than _words_ if you tried,” Sarah mutters, crossing her arms. 

Noctis laughs nervously. “Yeah, no doubt. It's just...as a _courtesy_ do you think you could, _you know_..." 

" _Turn it down?_ " Sarah finishes dubiously. 

"I was gonna say 'take it outside'," Noctis says, the corners of his mouth quirking. "If you need, I can reserve the courtyard for you. I just have people to think about, you know?"

A whole kingdom’s worth. "Courtyard it is," Sarah says. She retreats into the room, grabs the tome and comes back out, Noctis making way for her. Before she starts down the hallway, she turns and points at him witheringly. "Any more interruptions and I turn you into a frog, got it?"

Noctis' hands shoot up in surrender. "Yes, ma'am." 

The air-conditioning won't be online for at least a week, the foreman advised, which is why Ignis has all the windows open when the unnatural wind gusts through his office, rustling up the revisions to the policy proposal he's just printed.

Noctis pokes his head in the office while Ignis is righting his glasses, a relieved smile on his face. "Oh good, you're still here. Finished talking to her. Heads up, she’s going to be using the courtyard from now on."

"I gathered," Ignis mutters, snatching a wayward page out of the air. 

The Strahl straddles Eastern Rozarrian airspace in broad daylight, hovering invisibly above a yet to be pillaged temple. Fran returns from the galley to place a cup of tea in front of Sarah while Balthier goes through the contract at the bench. Prior to Sarah's arrival, they'd been bent over some stolen schematics debating which point of entry was least likely to be booby-trapped. 

"You didn't _really_ threaten to turn him into a frog, did you?" Balthier says. 

"Of course I did," Sarah says, blowing the steam away from her cup before sipping. 

"Unwise," Fran says, sliding in beside Balthier.

"It's fine, Noct knows I was teasing." _Mostly_ teasing. It would be hilarious if it actually happened, so she's not wholly opposed to the idea. "How bad is it?"

"Well, 'community service' they've taken care to define broadly," Balthier says, showing Fran. "'Activities carried out in service of the Crown.' Odds are you're going to be doing every single conceivable task under the sun."

Fran's ears twitch. "It is honourable work," she says, "good friends will be understandable to your indiscretions, but _true_ friends hold you to account."

"Somehow, I think that comment's directed at me," Balthier mutters, giving the viera a sidelong glance. Fran pretends she doesn't hear.

Sarah sighs and sips her tea. 

"On the bright side, you'll receive a fortnightly allowance, with deductions made for accommodation and other amenities provided by the palace," Balthier says, "I suppose that's _one_ avenue for settling your debt. A true friend indeed."

"What about deductions for good behaviour?"

"'At the discretion of 'The Marshal'."

Translation: get in Cor's good graces. Balthier chuckles at the face Sarah makes before going back to the document. 

" _Oho_ , now this is certainly mean-spirited: 'May not participate in any Commercial Hunts or Competitions of any nature where the prize pool or prized item value exceeds more than ten thousand gil—”

“ _What_ —”

“Until at least one year of service to the Crown has been completed,” Balthier finishes. “Seems like you really will be doing this the old fashioned way."

Sarah tries to scull the tea Cor-style, burns her throat but through sheer determination powers through the excruciating pain to all but slam her empty mug onto the bench. 

"A year," she declares, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "I can do a year. A year is _nothing_. I'll win the Caelum Cup, settle my tab and then I’m moving in with you guys."

"Wonderful!" Balthier says, clapping her on the back. "A worthy tale to see to its conclusion. Be sure to let us know how you crack on."

“Mm-hmm,” Sarah goes, clutching at her mouth. 

"Esuna?" Fran offers.

Sarah nods quickly.

Sarah turns up to breakfast with a spring in her step, like she didn't just have her ass handed to her by the Captain of the Crownsguard just days earlier. Noctis is reading the morning paper when she touches his shoulder and squeezes. Not particularly hard, but firm enough to bring him back to reality. An odd sort of familiarity, though not entirely unwelcome. 

"Morning. You haven't eaten yet?" She asks, taking the empty seat beside him and eyeing his empty plate critically.

"I need coffee in my system first," Noctis answers, doing a double-take when he takes stock of her outfit. Not the white dress she'd arrived in, but high-waisted shorts with her t-shirt tucked in, a pair of sunglasses perched in her hairline and sneakers to complete the ensemble. Light makeup. A regular tourist of Lucis, if he ever saw one.

If regular tourists went around picking fights with seasoned swordsmen and sported dark purple bruises on their arms from the effort.

"What's up?" Sarah says, surveying the dishes laid out in front of them. She opts for the oatmeal, light glinting off the silver band wrapped around her ring finger. 

_Must've gone to see her 'special someone' last night._ He doesn't ask, because it occurred to him that asking means reciprocity and Six take him if he has to listen to a 'plenty of fish in the sea' speech from her; he's going to fucking hurl himself headfirst into Ravatogh. 

"I didn't think you had any clothes," he says, folding his paper away. Truth be told he was starting to think her dress was requisite to her role as an interdimensional defender, or ceremonial, like Luna in her Oracle garb. 

_Although; Luna's been wearing a lot_ less _white these days..._

"I have clothes, I just don't keep them in my pockets," Sarah says, now in the middle of piling assorted sliced fruit on top of her oatmeal. "Pass me the coffee pot?"

Noctis grabs an empty cup and pours it for her instead. "Just say 'when'," he instructs. "Where do you keep them then?" 

"Duh, in a closet in my cottage. _When_ ," Sarah adds quickly before the cup is three-quarters full. Her nose crinkles. "They'd get wrinkled if I kept them in my pockets." 

"Milk? Sugar?"

"Yes, and yes, two—no, that's too much—perfect. Thanks," she adds as Noctis passes it to her. He makes a start on loading up his plate with pancakes. Pretends the plate of fruit doesn't exist. 

"You have a cottage." 

"Tucked away in a cosy little reality nook on the edge of the universe. A gift from the Hiso aliens." 

And she says it so casually too, like she's talking about something as inconsequential as the weather. 

Yeah, nope. Too early in the morning to try to wrap his head around anything more complicated than what shit the paparazzi is presently cooking up about him and fine motor skills. 

"Nice," Noctis says. "So what's on the itinerary today?"

"History!" Sarah says, somehow managing to grin and chew at the same time.

"History," Noctis repeats, spearing a pancake onto his fork. 

"Of Lucis. Well, _Eos_ as a whole, but I thought Lucis would be a good jumping-off point," Sarah explains. "I asked Talcott to take me to the museum today. Also, while I have you: may I borrow Talcott, he said I had to ask you..."

"Yeah, take him," Noctis says. He knows Talcott only said that to try to deter her. Kid's gotta learn to fight his own battles, though. "Why history?"

" _Why not?_ Old places, theology, culture. Politics." Sarah pauses, thinking. "Well, _new_ places, technically. Besides, what kind of friend would I be if I didn't make an effort to learn about your hometown?"

"I could just save time and _tell_ you."

Sarah pokes him. "Trying to get out of doing King stuff? That’s not very becoming. And you have syrup in your beard. Gross." 

Noctis pokes her back. "Well, what kind of friend would I be if I _didn't_ show you around my hometown?" 

"Touché, but as the saying goes: 'Writers write history—"

" _Victors write history_ ," Noctis corrects. "Even _more_ reason for you to listen to _me_ , a primary source."

"Even more reason for me _not_ to," Sarah counters cheerfully, pointing her spoon at him. "I'm sure the view from the top of the mountain is nicer than the bottom."

"Just so we're clear: I've been at the _bottom_ of the mountain too." 

Sarah falls into silence but only briefly. Noctis savours it while it lasts. 

"Well, be that as it may," she continues briskly, "history is also interpretation and finding nuance. It's—don't _roll_ your eyes at me, I care about this stuff. What’s so funny?"

_The fact that there's no 'nuance' in why Niflheim invaded Lucis. They wanted the crystal, so they stole it, and they stole it because they had the wherewithal to._

"Nothing," Noctis says, instead of _all that,_ because saying it would be asshole-ish even if it's true, and Gladio would give him hell for depriving someone of a learning experience. She’s genuine and open-minded, and maybe that's what's more important. "Stop by my room before you go. I have something for you."

The smartphone has been scrubbed clean of its calling, messaging even browser history ( _hehe_ ) but curiously the photo gallery remains untouched. Sarah goes into the folder expecting pictures of people from Noctis’ social circles; exes; vain selfies to tease him about later perhaps. 

“ _What the heck_ ,” Sarah goes, laughing as she scrolls through. Talcott’s eyebrows rise in interest as he manoeuvres them through Lucian traffic. When they stop at a red light, she shows him, and he cracks up too. 

It's all _fish_ : different sizes, different shapes. 

“His Majesty’s favourite pastime,” Talcott says, loyally. “He’s won the Navyth Cup three years in a row. We even have a national day of fishing to get people outside.”

Unbelievable. “Enablers, the lot of you,” Sarah says, shaking her head. 

She messages Noctis to tell him his fishing habit is worse than she thought.

His response is instant: _'Don’t knock it till you try it.'_

A class of excitable Year 3's (Sarah estimates) chaperoned by parents and teachers are disembarking from two school buses in the museum parking lot when Talcott pulls in. Sarah trails the group as an educator leads them through the tour, taking photos and jotting down words that sound interesting enough to warrant a deep dive into. Words like 'The Six', 'kingsglaive', 'Niffs', 'The Old Wall' and 'Oracle', whom Noctis had been arranged to marry. Talcott, having spotted some old friends at the entrance, and being a hands-off host, offers to meet her in the cafeteria when she's done. 

The day passes. 

Sarah splinters off from the group to conduct a tour of her own when the children become restless, and the adults have to distract them with a game. Continues through the corridors to a more sparsely populated section of the museum where she can concentrate. She’s taking notes from a plaque at the foot of a statue replica of the Founder King when someone touches her arm. 

A woman, delicate in an ethereal sort of way, long black hair and green eyes and dressed in a black kimono, smiles at her. She speaks. 

“Seeker of Truth. Wayward Traveller of a Thousand Worlds,” she announces. “We wondered if you might indulge us, if for a moment. It may prove… _transformative_ during your time on our Star.”

“‘Sarah’ will do,” Sarah ventures, cautiously. “I guess I could spare a few—”

The woman vanishes, reappearing momentarily at the entryway of a gallery that has been cordoned off by red velvet rope dividers before disappearing again. A shimmer in the air lingers briefly where she previously stood, fading as one of the patrons pass through. 

“I see. One of those,” Sarah remarks to herself. She shoves her journal and phone back into her bag and casually makes her way over, stopping to take photographs of the installations en route to her destination so as not to arouse suspicion from the staff. She doubts the woman will show up on film, but she sneaks a shot anyway. 

If she gets hexed for it, _well_. 

Lifting a hex is less troublesome than trying to wrangle impossible debt. 

The placard outside the Astral Gallery declares the room closed, undergoing maintenance. Following a cursory check to make sure no one is looking her way, Sarah slips under the rope. They can add it to her tab if she gets caught. Only fools snub invitations extended by the divine. 

There are six statues on exhibit in the darkened room, each enclosed in freestanding glass cases of their own, the only source of illumination provided by LED lights installed on the hood. At the edge of the room, Sarah spots the woman standing by notably the largest statue, spanning the entire length of the wall. 

Sarah's eyes flicker to the plaque as she comes up beside the woman, then to the astral. Takes note of the Draconian's armour, the commanding nature of His stance, the blades spread like wings behind His person.

"The Beginning of all things as we know them to be in Eos. Though perhaps not the End." Saying that, she takes Sarah's hand, presses a leather-bound journal into her palm and disappears. 

"I won't let you down!" Sarah calls, in the silence that follows. 

She does like a treasure hunt. 

Noctis is posted at the window rehearsing his opening address for a recently completed hospital in Neo-Galahd, Ignis interrupting with the occasional suggestion when Talcott’s truck rolls into view a little after 4 PM. Talcott is the first to hop out, scurrying to help Sarah, who, _Six_. 

Has apparently bought enough books to establish a small library. 

"Aww, thank you," he catches Sarah saying when Talcott takes half the pile from her. Talcott, apparently having gotten over his initial shyness continues whatever conversation they'd been having on their way here as they balance their way up the steps, his usual reserved tone replaced by open laughter. Uh-oh. 

"You didn't give her your credit card, did you?" Ignis asks, moving back to his side of the desk and getting back to work. 

"Nah, she refused.” Noctis snickers. “Poor Talcott. Barely been a week and already she’s got him wrapped around her little finger." 

"Is that what happened to you?" Ignis teases, smoothly dodging Noctis' balled up speech as it sails overhead into the wastebasket behind him. 


	8. VII

From the Royal Palace, the ride to the Insomnia barracks takes fifteen minutes. Monday morning, in peak hour traffic with Sarah fussing over her new Crownsguard uniform it feels double that. _Does this woman think these uniforms grow on trees? Or that the Lucian Treasury is a bottomless pit, for that matter._ It's all Noctis can do to take his eyes off of traffic and shake that nervous energy out of her. 

"Stop fiddling," he snaps. "You're going to pull the buttons out."

"I wouldn't _need_ to fiddle if it wasn't so _tight_. How am I supposed to fight in this, let alone _breathe_?" 

"Sarah if you were having trouble _breathing_ , you wouldn't be able _to_ complain." 

"The sizing's off."

"No, it's not." 

"Yes, it _is_."

"No, it's _not_ , because the uniforms are _tailor-made_ and I was there at your final fitting where _you_ told the tailor you loved it.'"

Sarah glances away in a huff as the Regalia pulls up to an intersection, a blush spreading across her cheeks in the reflection of the side-view mirror. Outside, a man hurries along the crosswalk attempting to drag a screaming child with him to the kindergarten on the other side. Against will, Noctis finds himself smiling. The man gives an apologetic wave for the delay; Noctis motions for him to carry on. 

"Poor little guy," Noctis says. "Probably his first day."

"First day's always the hardest."

"I gave my dad _hell_ on my first day. Bawled my eyes out, yanked his beard. The works." 

Sarah glances at him, surprised. "You remember that far back?"

"Even remember the lunch he packed for me," Noctis shrugs. "Well, the lunch he _had someone_ pack for me, I should say. I had this chocobo lunchbox and drink bottle...thought I was the coolest kid in town. When I eventually stopped _crying_ , that is." 

"Aww, baby Noct and his chocobo lunchbox. I'll bet you were _really_ popular around lunchtime." 

"Well, I don't like to _brag._ "

Sarah giggles. "And the fishing? Was that something your dad got you into?"

"Nah, that's all me."

The light changes.

Sarah sighs. "You're right about what I said," she admits, folding up the visor mirror. 

"I _know_ ," Noctis rolls his eyes, "I was there, wasn't I?" 

"Oh but he was such a _sweetheart_ \--" 

"Six. _Please_ tell me you're not going to make a habit out of this."

"Aww, but he seemed so _happy_ showing us that picture of his dog and all his little grandchildren. The moment I saw them and their cute little faces..." She sighs again, but it's on more of a happy note this time. 

" _Sucker_ ," Noctis teases.

"What? I didn't want to ruin the moment."

Oh, the _hypocrisy_. "Weren't you the one spouting off about 'being honest about my feelings'? Don't think I've forgotten." 

Sarah bursts into surprised laughter. " _What_? That's different!"

They come to another intersection, and this time Noctis glances at her, expectant. _Can't wait to hear this one._ "Different _how_?"

"There's _nuance_ , okay?"

Noctis groans, turning back. " _Again_ with the _nuance_ —"

"Look: your relationship with the tailor is _transactional_ ; your relationship with close friends is _not_. The stakes and dynamics are completely opposite. So _really_ -"

 _"_ So _really_ , _you've_ realized you're going to be wearing _that_ Monday through Friday _the entire time you're here_ , and you've made your peace with the fit being off."

Sarah ignores that and starts fiddling with the radio. Noctis smirks. 

"Well?"

"I’ll let it stretch in the wash," Sarah mutters. 

And his work here is done. 

Contrary to Sarah's first morning at the Insomnia barracks, the anteroom is a hub of frenetic human activity: Crownsguard officers ducking and weaving around each other to use the toaster and sandwich press or grab a coffee from the barista (apparently there's a rotating roster). Today's guy moves with practised efficiency, his movements reminiscent of an engineer right out of a Midgar reactor tinkering with the valves. A few officers find time to pause momentarily during the chaos to greet Sarah; one woman with a piece of toast in her mouth and four coffees in tow impressively managing a 'Morning!' while reversing through the throng to get to her table. 

"Sarah!" Prompto calls over the cacophony, waving energetically from across the room. He points to the seat that another Crownsguard has just vacated; said Crownsguard giving Sarah a polite smile as he passes, tugging up his turtleneck. 

It's the attempted casualness of the act— _Who pulls up a turtleneck anyway?_ — that piques Sarah's interest enough to take notice of the tattoo. As far as tattoos go, his wouldn't be so fascinating if not for the fact that it a) glows _,_ b) is in the shape of a Lichtenberg and c) she’s seen the Lichtenberg in the journal she received from that 'entity' from the museum. Aside from the occasional sketches scattered amongst its pages, the journal itself is unsurprisingly encrypted. Any possible lead that'll take her to the key or cypher at this stage is worth checking out. She makes a mental note to stalk Scar Guy later and threads her way to Prompto. 

"This place is a _madhouse_ ," Sarah declares, finally dropping across from him at the table. Seven-year-olds on a sugar high aren't even close to capable of matching the rampant anarchy occurring in such an enclosed space. She pulls out her journal and roughly sketches what she’s seen while it’s still fresh in her mind and she has a stable surface to work on. 

"Only on Mondays when we have the weekly brief," Prompto says. He jerks his thumb at the Crownsguard's retreating back. "What was that about?”

Sarah winks. "I’m a tattoo kinda gal.” 

“Hate to burst your bubble, but that's a _scar_ , not a tattoo.”

“Even better.” Scars _always_ have a history attached to them. She should know; she’s got enough to host a full-fledged exhibition. It could prove a natural conversation starter when she sees that guy again. “What else do you know? Come on, spill.”

“Ex-Glaive and one of the few people who isn’t Cor who’s received the King's Cross. Don’t get any ideas about flirting though; he’s got a girlfriend, and she knows her way around a knife.”

Sarah jots everything down in shorthand to go through on her lunch break (assuming they do those around here). She doesn’t know why Prompto feels the need to tack on the guy’s marital status, but the news doesn’t surprise her: Scar Guy has a nice-looking face; him having a girlfriend isn't a stretch to imagine. “The King’s Cross. Is that an award for bravery?”

“Highest honour in the Lucian Military. Awarded for ‘valour in service to the Crown’. Or is it ‘valour in the presence of the enemy…’” Prompto muses, stroking his chin. 

That settles it; no way is she _not_ talking to him. “When you say ‘glaive’ you mean _Kings_ glaive, right?”

"Tell you a secret?"

Sarah nods, leaning in. 

"I heard he keeps his cross in his bathroom so guests can practice trying it on," Prompto snickers.

Sarah’s hand shoots up, ramrod straight out of the grid of Crownsguard assembled in the Mess Hall when Cor requests volunteers for a protection detail for the Mayor of Lestallum. She tries not to think about the eyebrows raised in her direction; repeats the mantra she's rehearsed in the bathroom mirror and on the ride over. _One year. Caelum Cup._

Cor walks over and stands close enough to occupy her entire field of vision. Sarah stares back. _One year. Caelum—_

“Libertus and Elea, thank you for your _enthusiastic_ response. Report to the Armory for your gear.”

At Cor’s instruction, a man and woman, presumably the aforementioned, break away from the group. Sarah presently can't see beyond the Mt. Gagazet that is the Marshal's chest though she's willing to bet either Libertus or Elea made a funny gesture behind his back based on the muffled laughter that erupts and then dies down just as quickly under the Marshal’s gaze. Through it all, her hand remains steadfastly upright. Half of it's out of defiance; half's out of being utterly petrified of the unknown consequences of not following all the way through.

Cor sighs and finally looks at her. "Security detail is strictly reserved for members of the Crownsguard—unless they all spontaneously get food poisoning tomorrow,” he says, tone flat. “Not to worry; there’ll be plenty of work for you _, consultant._ ”

Sarah’s hand lowers. “Uh...yes. Sir."

After a brief one-on-one to explain her assignments come from the MCH (short for Ministry for Culture and Heritage), Cor has her report to Garage Block C to get started. The place is devoid of life save for Scar Guy leaning against an armoured van eating an apple. There’s a short bout of silence as they regard each other, Sarah hovering unsurely on the threshold of whether or not to approach until he crooks a finger at her. 

“Don’t worry; it’s nothing personal,” Scar Guy says once she comes close.

 _No preamble._ Proof that Cor's approach to human interaction has no problem filtering through the ranks. 

Sarah tilts her head at him. “What’s not personal?” 

“The Marshal. It’s a thing he likes to do; ‘ask nicely’ to give the illusion of choice.”

Sarah stares. 

Scar Guy stares back.

“That’s messed up,” Sarah says. 

“Yeah. Doesn’t mean we can’t laugh about it,” Scar Guy says. He sinks the apple core into a nearby bin and pushes himself upright to introduce himself. “Pelna. I’ll be your Supervising Officer during your time here." 

“Sarah. Pretty sure you mean ‘ _glorified babysitter_ ’,” Sarah can’t help but add. Seeing as they’ve elected to assign a decorated officer to keep an eye on her, she’s not sure if she should feel insulted or flattered by the notion that the Lucians still consider her a threat to National Security. 

Pelna unlocks the van, completely unbothered. "Hey, as long as we get paid, right?"

Sarah doesn’t gain an appreciation for just how much work goes into maintaining urban parks until she has to personally sandpaper and repaint every single park bench in the St. Eden's Green; the municipal garden located in the Insomnia city centre. _Without_ magic. 

She asks Pelna about his scar while she works. He stiffens at the question and changes the subject. She goes back to work and settles on a simpler goal: clearing the southern section of the park. 

_One year. Caelum Cup. One year. Caelum Cup._

A little past 3 PM she dumps her paint roller into the tray and straightens, stretching to work the stiffness out of her body. _God_ , even saving worlds hadn't been this hard. On the opposite side of the footpath, Pelna is perched on the van's tailgate reading a fashion magazine; a striking man in expensive tweed splashed out on the front cover staring at her dispassionately. 

“Could I get some water please?" Sarah calls. 

Without looking up, Pelna opens the cooler beside him and lobs a bottle at her. 

“Thanks.” Sarah drains half then presses the ice-cold plastic against her forehead, a welcome balm against the afternoon heat. Cor has her wear overalls over the Crownsguard uniform to protect it from paint stains and the occasional bird poop, and it does a spectacular job of that, but at the cost of slow cooking her in her own sweat and stink for the past five to six hours. She almost wants to fistfight the man.

Pelna stands, tucking the magazine under his arm as he surveys her handiwork. “Not a bad work ethic for the first day,” he says. “We'll pick up the rest tomorrow.”

“I like how you say 'we', but I'm the one doing all the work."

"Just showing a little solidarity. How's your arm?"

"Still attached.” Sarah rolls her right arm around in its socket a few times, grimacing. _Definitely going to be feeling that in the morning._ She opens her mouth to ask about his scar again, but her stomach growls before she can utter a syllable.

“I’d say you earned this,” Pelna says. Reaching into the cooler he tosses her an egg sandwich packaged in plastic.

Sarah decides to hassle him later-when she's built a rapport with him...and isn't so feral and uncouth leaving crumbs all over the passenger seat.

Across the ocean, Noctis' day is full of people from the new Concordia Hospital—physicians, nurses, surgeons, allied health practitioners and support staff who kept the existing hospital running even after Galahd was left to the mercilessness of the Niflheim Empire. In those days, the people had rallied, their kindness and compassion becoming a prevailing bastion against the dark without need nor use of weaponry or magic—ordinary people taking up the mantle of extraordinary without an astral’s patronage.

Like others before them, the stories always succeed in providing the much-needed lens for Noctis to examine his own privilege. For all the work it took him and the guys to reach Altissia, he remains someone who only saw the destruction wrought by Niflheim in the war's waning years. As stifling as the attention is, these aren’t the kind of people he can simply walk away from. So he sits, and he lets them come up to him, sometimes individually, most times in groups. 

And he waits, and he listens. 

Admin staff taking up hunting to help keep the patients fed. A midwife who delivered babies throughout the night with a fresh bullet wound in her shoulder. A trauma surgeon—now Chief of Surgery—with two cybernetic hands. The implants had only come after the war; before that she’d continued to operate via surrogate: issuing instructions to the staff for every operation up until then. 

"Niffs caught me operating on Galahd rebels and thought they'd make an example of me. _Idiots_. Should have taken my eyes," she winks. She excuses herself after that and disappears down the corridor to attend to another patient.

From a bird’s eye view, the stories aren't unique. On the ground and close up it’s the sheer _endlessness_ of them that leaves him raw and contemplative in the silence of the Regalia once Ignis deigns it appropriate for them to move on to their next appointment. These are the moments where he catches himself remembering his father. Of the King the man once was and the shadow he’s spent the last ten years trying to crawl out from under. Of the people whose lives he’s sworn to do better by since his ascension. 

_All of it, over a shiny stone._ "Sometimes I swear you do it on purpose to torture me, Specs." 

"It's my job to keep you from falling into apathy," Ignis says. "Every story serves as a reminder there's still work to be done; still a ways to go in rebuilding the trust of the Lucian people. It may not even be fully accomplished in your lifetime, but as long as you erect the cornerstones, your successors can continue from where you left off.”

Noctis yawns, sprawling out across the backseat. He appreciates that Ignis says 'successors' instead of 'heirs'. "Would be nice if I could just snap my fingers and fix everything." 

"There are no shortcuts to _trust_ , Noct; only hard work."

On days like these, even the culinary skill of a world-class kitchen staff isn't enough to pass muster for an appetite. Noctis bee-lines for his room the minute he returns; avoids all eye-contact while Ignis has a word with the Master of the Household letting him know the staff can turn in for the night. A perk of being King is that no one questions when it happens, only adjust their schedules to suit. It happens _a lot_. 

Just as Noctis is pulling the curtains closed, he catches a glimpse of white billowing in the breeze, the sharp gleam of Salvation in the setting sun. Six, he’d actually forgotten she was here. As if sensing him, Sarah looks up over her shoulder at his window and smiles, offering a small wave. Noctis forces a smile back and gives a thumbs up. A flash of light later and the courtyard is still once more.

He’ll ask how her day went tomorrow. Or the next time he sees her--give her a chance to adjust to the rigidity the Crownsguard's schedule; whichever of those happens first.

For now, he falls backwards into bed and lets exhaustion carry him off to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _  
>  ["Everyone wants me to be/What they want me to be/ I'm not happy when I try to fake it"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=esV8bKn8_Js)   
>  _


	9. VIII

Sarah’s always prided herself on being organised, so it doesn’t take her long to fall into a routine that balances the trinity of fighting the Eroder, doing her community service and cracking the journal. The first two are no-brainers. She’s fought the Eroder enough times to have a sixth sense in gauging how long the cooldown periods last in between each battle and the only thought processes required of community service is ‘Show up and do the thing fast enough so you can go home early.’ It’s the third part of the equation that throws a spanner in the works; eating up the time she schedules for research on top of the extra time she's freed up from handling the previous two efficiently. Though her smartphone is her quickest access to information, it takes her a month into her new routine before she buys a laptop. 

The reason it takes her a month isn't that it takes a month for it to sink in that working off of a bigger screen and keyboard could make researching easier; that would be embarrassing. It takes her a month because it _did_ occur to her that a laptop would make the work more comfortable, but she baulked at the idea of spending money that could have gone to reducing her debt. Three paydays later she becomes the grudging owner of a 15-inch notebook, hauling it to Noctis' room, and then downstairs to dinner when it becomes apparent he isn't in there to tell her the Wi-Fi password. 

She encounters resistance from the Master of the Household. He refuses to let her into the dining room citing something about Ignis—she doesn't care to listen, only knows that this pointless back and forth is eating up valuable research time, which leads to her running, and the Master of the Household running and some of the kitchen staff running; all of them after her when she bursts in on an alone and unsuspecting Noctis cutting into a steak at the dining table. 

"Your Majesty—"

"Wi-Fi password!" Sarah shouts breathlessly to drown him out. Noctis chews slowly in the silence staring from her in her pyjamas to the five people frozen with their hands wrapped over her limbs, ready to drag her bodily out of the room. Sarah clears her throat. "Sorry. These guys still don't trust me. So could you..."

"Sire," the Master of the Household pants, "we tried to advise that Friday nights are—"

"Thank you, Henry. Everyone. I'll take it from here," Noctis says. Sarah hugs her laptop protectively as they retreat out of the room.

Noctis goes back to eating as she slips into the seat beside him. He takes a sip from the half-filled glass of red wine, shaking his head. "Didn't think Eosian history would be _that_ fascinating. We've literally only ever had the onewar."

"Oh, no, I read all that, and it _is_ interesting actually. But this is a _special_ assignment."

"MCH has you doing extra work on the side? That's not part of the agreement," Noctis remarks, frowning. "Have you eaten?"

"Grabbed a bite after work," Sarah says, rushing to give him the skinny if it'll net her the password faster. "It's not MCH. I met this we'll say ' _character_ ' at the museum. She gave me this journal; she talked about the Beginning and the End while we were standing in front of the Draconian, all spooky and cryptic. Then she _vanished_ —"

Noctis chokes and sputters, knocking a fist against his chest. Sarah moves her laptop out of the blast radius of the wine droplets, finds an unused serviette and passes to him. She tries not to laugh. 

"You okay?"

"Never been better," he mutters, dabbing at his now ruined silk shirt. One can only speculate the price tag on that thing. "What did she look like? The woman from the museum." 

"Um. Gorgeous, long jet black hair, black dress. Green eyes. I have a picture. Can't believe she showed up on camera—"

He tosses the serviette back onto the table and pushes out of his seat. "Show me." 

"Right now? You haven't even finished eating." 

"Steak and potatoes are filling enough." 

Sarah scrutinises his plate. "You haven't even touched your greens..."

Noctis makes a face. "'Course not. They got wine all over them." 

"Most of the wine's on your shirt, though," Sarah tries to point out, but he's already at the dining room doors and pushing through them. Unbelievable. "You're gonna get constipated if you don't get enough fibre," she calls. 

"I'll take my chances. You want the password or not?" He holds up her laptop carelessly with one hand. 

Sarah's laughter dies as she hurries after him, now anxious. He snickers, holding it out of her reach as she tries to snatch it back. "Swear if you drop it I'll kick you!"

There are columns of library books all lined up along the edges of Sarah's desk. Hardcovers and paperbacks stacked high enough to form a makeshift cubicle—assuming that's what the secondary goal had been. Noctis plucks a hardback off of the top— _Reconciling Narratives of the Centennial War—_ and turns it over. On the bed, Sarah has her laptop open and downloading the latest updates while she goes through her phone. 

"You're really serious about this history stuff," Noctis says. He returns the book and walks over.

"As a heart attack," Sarah says, scrolling through her photos. "Here." She holds her phone out for him to see. 

"Gentiana," Noctis says, studying the still image. Sarah shuffles to make room as he sits. 

"You know her?"

"She's a High Messenger. Worked very closely with Luna. Never ages." 

"So you guys do talk to your gods."

" _Did_. Up until ten years ago." He hands Sarah's phone back and flops backwards on the bed to lie next to her, staring at the ceiling.

"What happened?"

"Honestly? I don't really know. Right after that last battle, it felt like this... _weight_ had lifted. Luna felt it too. Like they just upped and left."

"Well." Sarah wiggles her phone. " _Clearly_ that's not the case."

"Yeah. _Clearly_. What I wanna know is why _you_ though. It's not like you're anything specia—OW!" He busts out laughing when a pillow smacks into his face. Sarah gets a few more hits in before he snatches it and takes his revenge, the both of them gasping as the laughter turns silent and their lungs threaten to give out. 

"Truce?" Sarah wheezes, holding up her pinky. 

"Truce." Noctis curls his pinky around hers to legitimise it. "You said Gentiana gave you a journal?"

"She did, hang on." Sarah rolls off the bed, carefully edging around the wall of books to grab it. "How's your Ancient Eosian?"

"Pretty much non-existent. I only know one symbol," Noctis says, rolling onto his stomach so he can flip through it better. Sarah pokes him in the rib to make room, flopping onto the bed beside him, their shoulders and thighs touching. Some of her hair brushes his cheek as she shifts to make herself comfortable and he gets a whiff of her shampoo, sweet and floral. It throws him off for a spell. 

Come to think of it; this is probably the closest he'll ever get to bringing a pretty girl home. Ironic, considering the only reason this girl's here is because she's got no place of her own and is indentured to him and his government. 

Ironic, and also sad. 

One of her fingers comes up to tuck her hair behind her ear. Involuntarily, he finds himself tracking the movement with his gaze. 

Really, really sad _._

Sarah clears her throat and nudges him. "You never learned?" 

Noctis goes back to skimming through the journal, really only paying attention to the drawings. _Lightning...that's gotta be the Fulgurian._ "With the Oracle already being able to commune directly with the gods, it's kinda redundant. The last person who was fluent was Luna's mom, and she died before she could pass on the knowledge."

"Does Tenebrae have any archives I could look into?"

"Be a miracle if that were the case. Niffs torched them when they invaded. Doubt anything would've been salvageable."

Sarah grabs a pillow and screams into it. Noctis smiles sympathetically. 

"I'm guessing progress has been slow," he says. Under the pillow Sarah nods. She rolls onto her back, sighing. 

"Progress has been _zilch_. All I know for sure is it's encrypted—has to be, because it's divine in origin, 'keep it from getting into the wrong hands' kind of deal, yadda yadda. I need to figure out the key and the cypher and a translation to the alphabet."

"You talk like you've done this before."

Sarah shrugs. "I get the odd request now and then. I don't mind it; it gives me an excuse to hang around. Bet you feel less guilty about fining me, don't you? _Don't you_." She grins, elbowing him. 

" _Marginally_. The guest rooms were starting to get mouldy. Henry was getting anxious," Noctis adds, giving her a sideways glance. Sarah shoves him.

"Aww, I'm touched that I could solve Henry's Royal Mould Problem." 

"And your current problem? A whole lot of books for 'zilch progress'."

Sarah spares a glance at her desk and groans. "You don't know the half of it. I fell down a rabbit-hole and hit _every ledge on the way to the bottom_ before I found _one_ symbol that matched a symbol in the journal. _One_." She takes the journal and flips it to the front page, pointing to the inside of the front cover. "No clue what it means. Gods and their obsessive need to be dramatic, am I right?"

 _Of all_ _the lucky coincidences,_ Noctis thinks _._ The symbol is one he's been intimatelyaware of since birth, plastered everywhere in the Throne Room—from which Sarah's been expressly barred. "Preaching to the choir here," he says, patting her on the arm. "That's the symbol for 'King'."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> __  
>  ["How ya been since the last time that I saw you?/ 'Cause I think about it often/And I miss you if I'm honest"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NRYPWgcyqxE)   
> 


	10. IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ _"Money rains from the sky above/ But keep the change cause I've got enough"_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Y6Nne8RvaA)

Pelna is already in Cor's office and sitting across from him when Sarah knocks late one afternoon. There hasn't been any rubbish pickups or bench painting or even garden work to be done for the past few weeks so Cor has her straighten out a few of the barracks storerooms to kill time. (Read: _All_ the storerooms. He makes her clean _all_ the storerooms.) He lets her keep whatever junk she finds, "As long as it isn't a weapon or something that can be used as a weapon." The initial pile Sarah winds up with based on her loose interpretation of Cor’s instruction is rendered non-existent when she runs it by Pelna. He confiscates everything except for a whiteboard; refuses to even let her keep the markers. 

("Hey, you know I could bludgeon someone with this, right?" "Hey, you know I could tell Cor you could bludgeon someone with that, right?")

"You wanted to see me, Sir?" 

Cor motions for her to sit. On his desk sit two large blue binders with the MCH logo on it, the label difficult to sneak a peek at from this angle. Pelna has one too, resting on his lap. "Pel was just bringing me up to speed on your progress so far," Cor says. "Glad to hear you're keeping your nose clean, consultant."

"Clean enough to handle security detail, Sir?" Sarah tries, flashing a winning smile at him. Beside her Pelna gives her a 'Lady, really?' look. 

Cor crosses his arms, whatever semblance of a smile that had been on his face evaporating in the silence. 

Sarah's smile falters. "Still no?"

"Seriously, what is it with you and Security Detail?" Pelna says, shaking his head. 

"What? I just wanna be useful. Erm. _More_ useful," Sarah corrects quickly when Cor's eye twitches. "I love polishing bronze statues and getting pooped on by birds as much as the next delinquent, but uh..."

"Security detail is dull work," Cor says. "Your enthusiasm would be wasted there." He holds out one of the binders to her. Sarah’s pulse races the moment she reads the label. 

**‘Royal Tomb Restoration Project’**

Sarah hugs the binder to her chest, eyes wide with excitement. Her cheeks hurt something fierce from smiling so broadly, but that’s a far-off concern at present. “When can I start?”

“Told you she’d like it,” Pelna says to Cor who just rolls his eyes and kicks them out. Sarah goes happily, a skip in her step while Pelna sighs and trails reluctantly behind, muttering about how his girlfriend's going to kill him.

It’s almost as if she’s been gift-wrapped the sun and stars. 

The phone is answered on the first ring. _A_ _lmost like he's been waiting for it_ , Cor thinks. 

“You know; if you wanted to play hooky with your friend you could just order it. No need for the smoke and mirrors,” Cor says, skipping the pleasantries. He's never bothered with them, why start now? “What’s the point of packing all that firepower if you can’t cut loose every once in a while? Six, even your old man wasn’t this much of a stick in the mud.”

A sigh on the other end. _“That’s what I tell Ignis,”_ Noctis says. _“Thanks for playing along. Did you need anything from me? Fair's fair.”_

“Yeah. Tell your Cabinet that booking any room with a view is going the right way for an assassination attempt. They’re giving my guys an ulcer. I hear so much as a peep from the Prime Minister’s office again, I’m putting Insomnia under martial law, got it?”

Noctis laughs. _“I'll take that under advisement. Anything else?”_

“Yeah. She’s cute, you know. Your little ‘consultant’ friend.” 

_“_ Wow _. Didn’t know The Marshal could be so superficial.”_

Little shit. “Should make a move while the moving’s good if you catch my drift. A lot of horny people in the barracks."

_"That sounds like a 'you' problem."_

" _Single,_ horny people,” Cor drawls. 

_“Isn’t she half your age?”_ Noctis teases. _"Dirty old man."_ He hangs up before Cor can fire off a retort. 

“Punk,” Cor says, chuckling. Nice to know the Caelum wit is still alive and thriving. 

Regis would be proud. 


	11. X

The Tomb of Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII is the only Royal Tomb erected within Insomnia, its existence marking a departure from the tradition of being scattered throughout the Lucian frontier like its predecessors. Noctis' Saturday morning ritual incorporates visiting it at the end of his morning run through St. Eden's Green to pay a short vigil in remembrance following a few rounds of callisthenics on its front lawn. Occasionally his run requires an extended detour through random backstreets to shake off the clout chasers clamouring for a photo op. Today he gets lucky, and the run takes its usual forty-five minutes.

It's as he's descending the tomb steps that he realises someone else has gotten up this early to visit; presently lying on their stomach and copying the symbols carved onto the sarcophagus into her journal. He debates pulling his shirt back on for propriety's sake but ultimately doesn't commit to the act when he realises it's Sarah. _She won't care._

She can't hear him through whatever's blasting in those earphones of hers though, so he does the sensible thing, nudges her shoe to get her attention...and that's when all hell breaks loose.

The shoe he'd nudged moves, sweeps the ground out from under him, the owner lunging forward as he falls, capitalising on his loss of equilibrium. In the nanoseconds it takes for his synapses to fire off she has him pinned to the concrete floor by his left wrist, a sharp end of a ballpoint pen pressed to his jugular with the other hand. It's not so much the danger he's in as it is the unfettered ferocity of her assault, the intense magical aura reverberating from her touch that leaves him wide-eyed and staring, equal parts dumbfounded and winded. His heart pounding in his head. 

_Shiva on the half shell._

"Touch me again and I'll—" Sarah's eyes widen as recognition hits, her face reddening as she yanks her earphones out. Magic fizzling. " _Noct_?" 

Noctis coughs. "Hey." 

Sarah retreats, somehow having the strength to pull him upright with her in the same movement. "Don't _do_ that!" She scolds, retracting the pen with a click. "Seriously, _seriously_ please don't ever do that." 

"Sorry," Noctis says, dusting himself off. 

"Bad enough I'm public enemy number one for demolishing a heritage site, and now I have to worry about adding _regicide_ to that list?" She exhales, shaking her head. "No, rant over, I'm sorry too. I overreacted."

"I get it. Ten years chasing an interdimensional alien who can copy powers—I'd be paranoid too. Long as we're alright, right?"

"Right." Sarah smiles, but it's not enough to distract from the dark circles under her eyes. 

"How long have you been here, anyway? It's almost six."

"I haven't slept since they assigned me to help out with the project yesterday," Sarah admits. "Too excited to test my theory about the code, I guess." She crouches and starts packing, meticulously returning everything on the tomb floor into her pocketbook—phone, journals, earphones, potential murder weapon. "You could have waved a hand in front of my face. Or something." 

"Guess I wasn't expecting you to go full murder-bot on me," he says, draping his t-shirt over his neck. "Find anything interesting?" 

Sarah turns, slinging her pocketbook over one shoulder, expression thoughtful. "I have a hunch, but I'll need to see the other tombs first." She glances back to him, studying him critically before a smirk spreads across her face.

"What?"

She walks over and pokes his chest. "There's no paparazzi around, _Your Majesty_. Who you trying to impress, _hmm_?" 

" _You, obviously,_ " Noctis scoffs, slapping her hand away. Not his most masterful comeback, he'll admit, but Sarah snickers all the same and continues up the stairs ahead of him, two at a time. 

Somehow, even with them being the only people in Eden enjoying the tranquillity before the commuters pass through—and subsequently the coffee truck's only customers—Sarah is still capable of stretching a simple transaction to twenty minutes longer than necessary. As she walks back, Noctis decides then and there he's never going to trust her with ordering when food is involved. 

"Let me guess," he says, when Sarah finally plants herself onto the bench beside him, passing him his coffee. "He had a picture of his ten thousand dogs on display, and you just _had_ to ask for all their names." 

Sarah kicks his ankle. "Ten thousand and _one,_ jerk. He was telling me the best routes to take when driving to the Tombs." 

_Driving_? That'll take her days, months even if she's going to be working across different sites. He doubts Cor's going to be amenable to that plan, can already hear the man launching into a diatribe about 'working smarter, not harder'. "The best route is flying."

"For _you_ , maybe."

"For _everyone_. It's faster."

"I get airsick."

"And yet, you're somehow perfectly alright with hopping from world to world..."

"Hey, it happens," Sarah says. She doesn't look him in the eye when she says it, though.

Noctis takes a long sip of his coffee, eyeing her shrewdly. 

Seems like she's not the only one with a hypothesis to test.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _["See the future into the present/ See my past leaves in the distance"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SvaBaq9yuxY)_ aka the song Noctis listens to on his runs


	12. XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ _"Baby when I met you there was peace unknown/ I set out to get you with a fine tooth comb/ I was soft inside/ There was something going on"_ ](url)

The King of Lucis’ return from a week-long conference in Altissia is heralded by a loud crash, having tripped over a pile of books—he'd been vehemently assured would be brought under control before he left—and knocking over a mobile whiteboard. If it's at all possible to look dignified while wading and stumbling through a literal bibliographical sea towards the culprit sleeping at her desk, then certainly this isn't the reality where that happens. 

Sarah, roused from sleep by the ruckus, lifts her head from her copy of _Fulfilled: The Autobiography of Lunafreya Nox Fleuret_ to squint blearily at the oncoming hurricane barreling to a sudden halt in front of her. The books crashing onto the carpet like a wave of bricks at the hurricane's feet. 

"Wh...what's hap—who's—Noct! W-when did you get—what time is it anyway?" She reaches for her phone as she sits up, momentarily blinded by the sudden brightness of the tiny LCD. She turns that squint on to him. "It's after midnight. Why are you... _oh,_ " she goes, quietly.

Noctis sweeps a gesture calmly about the room. _Her_ room, her bedroom that is no longer a bedroom, but a _miniature archive_ where every conceivable flat surface has been converted into an empire constructed entirely of books, presently continuing its aggressive expansion of its territory onto her bed. When she said 'I'll take care of it' there had been the unspoken expectation that _this_ was the polar opposite of that agreement. Honestly, he should be worried about her level of commitment to a cause—definitely something one should nip in the bud, so she doesn't burn herself out—but the fact that he had been so impossibly off the mark in underestimating it amuses him more than it actually pisses him off. On his father's grave, he swears never to call Prompto a nerd again. There's a new mayor of Nerd Town, and he's staring right at her. 

"Sarah," Noctis says, voice an unwavering calm that speaks nothing of the turmoil roiling beneath the surface. He came home high off the back of a prosperous trade agreement with the Niffs, and he'd hurried over to her room when he'd seen her light was still on to tell her the relationship-building strategy she'd suggested had worked. "What do you call this?"

Sarah, who has been shrinking back from that thousand-yard stare in an attempt to assimilate into her seat, gives up on the endeavour and tries a different tactic; smiling coyly up at him. "Erm. Organized chaos?" 

Noctis' lip curls. Infernian roast him alive if he isn't a man who appreciates a good oxymoron, but this is supposed to be a Serious Conversation between two adults. It might even be an intervention. Oh, Six—it _is_ an intervention, isn't it? Damn her. "Organized. _Chaos,_ " Noctis repeats tonelessly. 

"Yes, _organized chaos_ , except _you've_ bulldozed right through everything so now it really is just chaos. And, before you start," she adds, pointing, "I _was_ getting around to it."

 _When, during the next dynasty?_ "It looks like you've cleared out the _entire Lucian Archive._ " Oh for the love of—he'd meant that as a joke, but the indignant look in Sarah's eye, the instantaneous flustered colouring on her cheeks from the assertion levelled against her tells him he might actually be spot on. He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Sarah."

"Hmm?" Sarah hums innocently, interlinking her fingers and stretching her arms above her head. 

Noctis fists his hands, fortifying himself. If the dam breaks and he laughs, it's over. And then he's going to strangle her. Because he knows what kind of phone call to expect from the MCH on Monday morning. " _Is_ this the entire Lucian Archive?" 

"Ehh, just the War Archives," Sarah answers with a yawn, presently twisting her torso from one side to the other. She notices his aghast expression and rolls her eyes. "Oh don't give me that, I'm doing this for _you_ , you know."

"For _me_ , " Noctis repeats dubiously. He distinctly recalls Cor's email about Pelna needing to toss her over his shoulder to haul her ass into the van and away from a Tomb Site on more than one occasion. The email had also included photos, which he'd made the mistake of opening during a video call with Camelia, who'd chewed him out because she didn't think he was taking the meeting seriously. He'd deserved it; the meeting had been about how to handle the rising unrest in Gralea for Niff independence, and he'd snickered while Camelia had been making a crucial point about being sensitive and responsive to their demands. In the end, he'd conceded to her suggestion about hosting a referendum; at that point, he was ready to say anything that'd get him back in her good books. 

"Yes, _you_. _Your_ pantheon, not mine." Sarah leans back into her seat and yawns. 

"Sarah, look around. This is _insane_."

"I agree. This room is too small." Sarah purses her lips, expression contemplative. "Might need to get some shelves or something," she says quietly. 

Noctis digs his hands into his pockets, breathing in sharply through his nose and then out. If there's any trajectory this battle is going, it's uphill on a steep incline. "Sarah—"

"In my defence, this isn't some memo I can just 'brush off'. _Literally_ an order from Up Top, so if you've got a grievance, that's between you and Them. And one more thing—"

Noctis' hands curl into fists in his pockets, fighting the urge to shake her. " _Sarah_ —"

Sarah tosses her hands in the air, refusing to let up. "Honestly not my fault that _I'm_ banned from staying in the Archives for more than two hours at a time because your Head Archivist thinks I'm going to set it on fire, or something. Good luck trying to catch me on a technicality because I've followed the instructions _to the letter_." 

Noctis drags a hand down his face and takes a deep breath to compose himself before he looks at her again. She, in the cute malboro print pyjamas, glaring indignantly at him like _he's_ the one whose hoarding problem has the potential to become a fire hazard. Oh Six, the National Commander: yet another person he's going to be hearing from if the MCH snitches to the Lucian Fire and Emergency Service. "You know what," he decides, "I'm going to bed. I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow."

He turns and starts wading through the sea of books back to the door, stumbling and trying his best to maintain the dignified energy he arrived with. Sarah giggles as he goes and calls out 'goodnight' behind him. He musters a hasty 'goodnight' in return, relieved he's got his back to her to hide the many contortions his face goes through in suppressing his laughter.


	13. XII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [_"Soaked up in my brain/For another day/These things I'm tryna say/Get drenched and swept away, that's the truth"_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iNaIgsnSG1w)

Sarah's never seen a master key in action, so she hovers close behind Noctis on tip-toe while he unlocks the unused study just a few doors down from her bedroom, both her hands braced on his shoulders to get a better look. If he's annoyed by it, there isn't any indication of it on his face. Insofar as she can tell from where she stands, at least. 

They both hear a click, but the door doesn't swing open right away. Noctis tucks the key back into his pant pocket and sighs. He turns, takes hold of her by the arms and moves her gently aside. Sarah cooperates, but not without questions.

"Something wrong?" 

"Just a little technical difficulty."

She watches him take a step back, one hand still wrapped around the brass handle and starts ramming against the door with his shoulder. 

He speaks casually in between hits—as though accustomed to the act. "When the palace was rebuilt, I had them alter the design. Something smaller, due to the lack of resources we had back then, but still respectful to the original."

Lack of resources? "Doesn't your family own a hotel chain?"

He pauses, shaking his head. "Donated all the wealth to the regenesis effort. You didn’t read about that?”

"No, but I imagine your shareholders didn't take too kindly to the news."

"We’ll never know for sure. Aldercapt had everyone on the board rounded up and, _you know._ " Noctis draws a line across his throat with his index finger to punctuate that statement. Sarah winces. He goes back to resuming his assault on the door, grunting with the effort. "As for this room, it seems to have a mind of its own some days.”

“Great, so it’s _haunted_!" Sarah declares, facetiously cheerful. She kicks him in the ankle. "You’re giving me a _haunted_ room. Tell me how you really feel."

“I’m giving you the room Henry’s least likely to freak out about, and _no_ , it isn't haunted."

Sarah scoffs. "So you _say_."

"So I _know_. Specs’ working theory is there's residual magic, kind of like an echo. Messes with the atmosphere. You know when you turn off a lamp, and it takes a while for the filament to go out?" Sarah nods. He goes back to ramming. "This room's directly above where the original skylight leading to the crystal would have been. Damn." He steps away, clutching his shoulder and scowling at the door. 

Sarah steps forward. Touches the arm that hasn't been used as a battering ram. She needs the extra space, sure, but not at the cost of a royal limb. Plus, there’s an easy fix to this, and it's an opportunity for a teaching moment. 

If not a thinly-veiled chance to one-up Mr Tough Guy. Gee-whiz, talk about machismo. 

"Mind if I take a wack at it?"

Noctis looks at her cynically but then relents, making space for her. He crosses his arms and watches her take a few steps further back than he did; as far back as the width of the hallway will allow. 

"Fair warning: it's pretty solid," Noctis says.

Sarah fakes a smile at him, then turns her focus back to the obstacle at hand, hops from left to right on the spot, boxer-like. Rolls her head on her shoulders. She could conceivably destroy the door if she wanted, but exercising restraint would be a mercy to Pelna and his report writing, and to a more immediate extent, Henry’s blood pressure. Moreover, exercising restraint unlike cutting loose, warrants a tad more concentration.

“Oh _please_ ,” Noctis says, rolling his eyes. 

“ _Quiet_.”

She pushes off her back foot, shortsword materialising in a two-handed grip, and swings upward through the air in a vertical arc, the force of the blow creating a gust of wind that blasts the door violently open. She turns to Noctis and bows with a flourish, her tone pompous. "After you, Your Majesty." 

"You know I loosened that up for you, right?" Noctis says, trying to pat his now windblown hair down. 

" _Sure_." 

Sarah takes one look around the cluttered study—crumpled paper balls strewn about, practice swords all stacked in one corner, the long trestle table and desk both buried under boxes and boxes of old computers and assorted computer components, the various figurines and video game cases taking up the shelves lining one wall of the room—plants her hands on her hips, and blows a wayward strand out of her face. 

“Hey, you’re the one who whined about needing more space,” Noctis says.

"Yeah, _well_. There's a lot more crap in here than I thought,” Sarah grumbles. The whole thing is giving her war flashbacks from the barracks. Jeez.

"Like you're in any position to judge.” 

She ignores that and goes for the trestle table, pausing to crouch and pick up a colourful wrinkled A4 poster on the floor when it catches her eye, smooths it out a few times over the tops of her thighs to make it readable. It's promotional material for this year's recent Caelum Cup Championship Match between the Challenger Terra and Defending Champion Yozora live on Pay-per-view, complete with the match date and entrance fee details. 

"What is it?" Noctis asks, walking over.

Sarah shows him. "Are the masks compulsory? They don't seem at all practical." 

Noctis snorts. "It's a gimmick. People can go as outlandish as they want. It's half the appeal."

 _Sure, if you like deliberately interfering with your hand-eye coordination_ , Sarah thinks. It’s _only_ one of the critical tenets to fighting well. "So who won?" 

"Duh, Yozora. _Easily_ ," Noctis adds with a smirk. "I’ve got recordings if you wanna watch."

"A fan, are we?"

Noctis shrugs. "I'm a simple guy who appreciates the simple things in life."

"Like titillating violence." 

"Six, just say 'no' next time." Noctis rolls his eyes.

Sarah giggles. "Just messing around. You may colour me intrigued, simple man.” She folds the poster up and tucks it into her shorts pocket. It'll be good recon for next year's tournament, learning the champion’s moves. 

_But first things first_. 

Clearing out the study takes the entire day. The practice swords and computer components are the easiest to deal with, Noctis opting to donate the blades to the museum as a peace offering for the MCH, and for the computer hardware to get sent to the palace’s IT section. Henry arranges the whole thing and has Talcott wheel the items out on a heavy-duty steel trolley. 

The figurines and video games Sarah‘s reluctant to touch on account of the nostalgia she hears in Noctis’ voice when he talks about them, though he is content with packing them away in a box to keep in his room. Everything else that isn’t recyclable or readily discernible as trash winds up in a substantial pile in the centre of the room, which she leaves for Noctis to decide whether to keep or not while she goes through the desk’s drawers. 

That’s when she happens across the stash of softcore magazines. 

_Jackpot_.

She doesn’t have to open them to know the contents; the buxom woman posing on all fours in a string bikini on the front cover says it all. She takes out one and flips through to the first article she can find. 

“Well well _well_ ,” Sarah announces, revelling in the swift transition Noctis’ face goes from indifference to abject horror when she turns. “‘Cosmo’s 20 Favourite Sex Tips culled straight from the _experts_ —’” she dodges to the side as he rushes for it “‘Cosmo has the _wall_ - _shaking_ ,’” she ducks, and he pivots just as he misses, preparing to lunge again, “‘ _earth_ - _quaking_ moves that’ll shoot your bed across the room!’”

He grabs her from behind, one arm wrapped taut about her waist to hold her still while his free hand yanks the magazine out of her grip.

"Keep it down, will you?"

He looks so adorably flustered, Sarah can’t resist the urge to tease. “Ooh, what’s _this_ position called,” she snickers, glancing over her shoulder and batting her eyelashes at him “the Royal _Heimlich_?” 

Noctis immediately lets go as if burned and that’s when she loses it, doubles over _howling_ , clutching at her ribs. Tears stinging the corners of her eyes. The look on his face— _priceless_. 

Noctis stalks over to the desk, shakes the rest of the contents of the drawer into a box, replaces the drawer, and stalks out of the study, red-faced and steaming. Sarah smirks as she watches him go. 

“So I guess those are _keepers_ , are they?” 

He gives her the finger over his shoulder. 

Much later, when the room is finally a functional workspace, and they've called a steady-ish truce on the porn magazines _and_ have successfully moved all of Sarah's research in, Noctis brings his laptop over and sets it on the trestle table so they can watch Yozora in action over pizza. The pizza is Sarah's shout as thanks for the staff who helped. Talcott, for driving all the trash directly to the landfill gets two pies and a six-pack of beers as a bonus. (Well, he _would have_ had a six-pack of beers if Noctis hadn't confiscated it on account of the kid being under age.) She multi-tasks while they eat: left hand for writing, right to keep the ham and pineapple coming. 

Noctis leans over while they’re watching the eighth championship match to steal a glance at her handiwork, but she quickly closes her notebook shut. Something about letting Yozora’s biggest fan see her notes just fuels a sudden competitiveness in her. Or maybe it’s plain paranoia.

“I thought it was tomb stuff, but you’re actually taking notes?” Noctis asks.

“Shh,” Sarah says, eyes narrowed at the screen. Yozora is heavily bleeding and nearly has his back against the wall, Olberic is pressing his advantage. 

“That was a funny one,” Noctis says. He reaches for the notebook. “Come on, let me see.” Sarah elbows him away. 

Onscreen, Yozora kicks Olberic square in the crown jewels, the crowd going rabid with rancorous laughter as the latter sinks to his knees in agony. Yozora makes quick work of the guy after that.

“That _cannot_ be legal,” Sarah says. 

“Anything goes in the championship match." 

“Let me guess, ‘it’s part of the appeal’,” she air-quotes.

“ _Now_ you’re getting it,” Noctis says. “So what are the notes for?”

“Keep a secret?” After Noctis nods, Sarah does a cursory check to make sure the door to the study’s closed. She glances back. “I’m entering next year."

The smile on Noctis’ face seems to stall. “For real?”

“Yup.”

“ _Why_?”

“ _Duh_ , to get rid of my crushing debt!”

Noctis coughs to hide a laugh. Sarah smacks him in the arm anyway. 

“ _Don’t_. You’re the reason I’m in this mess!”

“No, _you’re_ the reason you’re in that mess,” Noctis says. He taps a finger on her notebook. “You don’t seriously think entering the tournament’s going to solve your problems, do you?”

“No, I think _winning_ the tournament’s going to solve my problems,” Sarah corrects, grinning malevolently. “My contract says I can’t enter until I’ve put in a full year of service to the crown. Thankfully there’s plenty to do until then.”

“No wonder you’ve been so gung-ho about all this,” Noctis says, gesturing about the room. “Well, can’t wait to see how that goes. What have you found out?”

Not much, honestly. Problem number one is Yozora happens to be proficient in every weapon type and style under the sun, and his only strategy seems to consist of adapting to whatever the opponent’s using. Problem number two is Yozora is exceptionally agile. Problem number three, Yozora has no qualms about fighting dirty.

“He's tough, but I know I can beat him,” Sarah says instead.

“Do tell.”

She can tell by the way Noctis says it that he’s not at all convinced. 

Fanboys. 

“I’m going to train,” Sarah says. “With the best swordsman in Lucis.”

“You really think going toe to toe with Cor’s going to be enough?”

“No.” She reaches for another pizza slice and takes a large, determined bite. “But it’s going to be a _start_.”


	14. XIII

"You know," Noctis says, taking his eyes off the water long enough to glance incredulously over his shoulder "the whole point of being outside is to enjoy being outside."

Sarah, who has two different maps of Lucis--one from the start of the Caelum dynasty, and one from this year--spread out in front of her and pinned to the deck of the Nautilus with her phone and bottles of water as paperweights, continues making notes in red marker on the younger map. "What makes you think I'm not enjoying myself?"

"You're working."

"It's not working if you enjoy it," Sarah says. "And I did bring togs in case you hadn't noticed."

"What I've noticed is you stressing me out. Hate to see what you actually classify as work," Noctis mutters, but she catches the jibe and sits up, scowling at his back. The hypocrisy of this man. All smug and superior, with his fishing rod, as if standing there for an hour in the sun without moving, is the most riveting thing in the world. 

More riveting than watching paint dry, even. 

Sarah carefully folds away her maps to stow away under her tote bag, then rises soundlessly. Sheds her henley while she measures the distance between her and the water, a vengeful grin spreading across her face. It's a mission in and of itself to keep her voice even, but she manages. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean it's a beautiful sunny day, and we're out here on the water, and you're over there with your nose in a map, digging for a lost cause--" 

Noctis' head sways to the side when her t-shirt hits his head. Sarah breaks off for the bow in a dead sprint and leaps while he’s distracted, using her magic to boost herself high in the air, hugging her knees at the apex of her jump. The splash she makes when she hits the water gets Noctis full in the face just as he yanks off her shirt. 

She surfaces, laughing while Noctis stares at her, his entire top half drenched. She's impressed he hasn't dropped his rod, given how shocked he looks. "Is that fun enough for you?" 

He retracts his fishing line and rod and disappears from view.

"Oh come on, that was funny!" Sarah calls, eyes widening and rushing to swim to safety too late when he leaps off of the Nautilus clad only in his swimming trunks and cannonballs into the water next to her. 

This time he laughs while she coughs and sputters. "You're right, that is funny," he says, grinning. 

Sarah splashes him before can he fire off another witty retort.

"What I said earlier," Noctis says, later in the afternoon when they're back on deck. He'd spent the better part of twenty minutes packing away his fishing tackle in silence, Sarah'd assumed it was a ritual of some sort, not so much an opportunity to reflect. 

She turns, in the middle of squeezing water out of her hair to look at him quizically. She'd also assumed he'd fallen asleep, sprawled out in the sun like that. 

"About the temples," Noctis explains. "I wasn't..." an exhale "I wasn't saying it to be mean."

She tries to keep her tone light, but the bitterness still manages to seep through. "I believe your exact words were 'digging for a lost cause'."

"Shit. That _was_ pretty mean of me," Noctis admits, quietly. He touches her arm to make sure she's looking at him when the apology comes. "Sorry."

She hates that he somehow has the capacity to look like a bruised puppy when he says it; hates that it makes it harder to stay annoyed at him. And she's not _really_. Annoyed, that is; more hurt than annoyed. It's not that she isn't used to people across dimensions teasing her--God if she had a gil for every time it happened-- just that it stings all the more when it comes from a friend. Someone who's had her back in a fight, to boot. "Thank you." 

"It's just..." Noctis lets out an exasperated sigh and sprawls out onto the hardwood, one arm coming up to cover his eyes. 

Sarah folds her towel into a pillow and lies down too, turning on her side. "Just _what_ , Noct?" When he doesn't immediately answer, she pokes him with her foot. "It's going to eat at you if you don't." 

"Like. Sarah, do you _honestly_ think we _haven't_ had people looking? Not just after the war, but during the war, too. I know stories about people who've died trying or gone mad. It's...frustrating watching you waste time throwing yourself into something that's already been proven to be all for nothing. Kind of insulting, too if I'm honest."

_ How long's he been bottling that up _ , Sarah wonders. "Counterpoint," she says. He turns onto his side, perturbed gaze sweeping over her. She fights not to lose her nerve. "Do _you_ honestly think that that wasn't the first thing that crossed my mind the first time I visited the Archives? Or that you're the first person on a world I've visited who's said that exact thing to me?"

He doesn't say anything, just watches her, expression suddenly inscrutable, content to let the silence between them stretch into oblivion. They're the only people out here on the water, but right now it might as well be the entirety of Eos. He's either thinking up a response or testing her resolve--either way it's...unsettling. 

"I'm just worried," Noctis says finally, voice neutral. "I don't want you to burn yourself out over all of this. I didn't get you extra office space so you could sleep where you worked; I got you extra office space so you could separate the two."

"Noct--"

"Just. Promise me you'll be careful, even if all this isn't new to you; it's new to me. You're my _friend_ before anything else. I'm not going to boot you out of the palace if you don't solve The Six's riddle. In case you were worried about that." He adds, raising an eyebrow at her. 

"Well, I _wasn't_ until you had to go and mention it," Sarah says, and when he laughs, she finds herself relaxing at the sound. "We're good, right?"

"As long as you don't skip dinner and return your library books on time."

"Deal." Sarah says, after they shake on it, she closes her eyes, stretching her arms out with a yawn. “Go catch your fish already, I’m hungry.”

“ _Now_ she tells me,” Noctis grumbles. 

Sarah smiles at his back as he gets up and starts unpacking his tackle all over again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ _"If our own mistakes are too much to take/If this just won't work and we can't find a way/ Maybe our maps go different ways, go different ways"_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fkAWyeoiYEk)


End file.
